Candyman
by Hysteria87
Summary: Steve Rogers is the head of a corporate conglomerate and for some reason, he's taken an interest in you. (Mature. Eventual smut, dub-con at best, manipulation, language)
1. Chapter 1

"Let's see… Bar 4, gray shirt, brown jacket, brown shoes…" you mumbled to yourself, reading the description of your next appointment off of the iPad. Your eyes scanned up and down the front bar, trying your best to match the vague details to any of the people that sat near that section. Sundays were by far the worst day; everyone else had the day off except retail and the store was completely packed. People were even lined up against the walls, waiting for their turn to have their devices looked at. Finally your eyes landed on a brown suede jacket at the very end, encasing the broadest shoulders you had ever seen. Peering down the wooden table, the man who belonged to the jacket wore a gray t-shirt and was seemingly happily clicking away on his perfectly fine computer. "Network and connectivity issues," you sighed to yourself, bracing for the inevitable argument that was about to happen.

"Steve?" you asked as you approached from the opposite side. The man in the jacket snapped his head up from his screen and your breath hitched in your chest. The blue in his eyes was crystal clear, his chiseled jaw cut the sharpest of lines against his neck. The thick vein ran along his muscles and disappeared under the collar, the blond hair combed back and shaped just so, just enough to look cool but still age appropriate. A small smirk formed across his pillowy lips as his eyes raked over you and suddenly you felt a bit self conscious in your issued t-shirt and skinny jeans. Jesus, you hadn't even bothered with makeup today.

"Yep, that's me," and he stuck out his hand. You took it in kind and felt how firm but soft his grip was, and you couldn't help but notice how his fingers lingered on your skin just a second too long.

"So, we got some issues connecting? How can I help you?" You asked, trying to regain control over yourself and the appointment. You couldn't help but lean over the edge of the bar, crossing your arms so that your tits were pushed up and out.

Steve swiped his tongue gently over his lower lip before explaining, "I just bought a house around here and the internet guys were over yesterday. They said they set everything up but nothing will connect, least of all my computer."

"Oh man, that sucks so much. When I moved into my current apartment, I had to have the internet guys out three times until my service would work consistently. Those poor phone technicians, I swear I was calling and raising hell every other day," you laughed as you started gathering some information from his computer.

"Right? They never seem to really know what the issue is, they just want to run cable everywhere and make a huge fucking mess. Excuse my language," he continued, "When I showed them that my computer wouldn't connect, they just insisted that I needed to bring it here and have you guys look at it. So, here I am."

You clicked around his settings a bit, noticing that the computer had connected to the store's wifi with no issues. Opening up the browser, it loaded several websites and his mail at normal speeds. Even his notifications started to come through after being offline for who knows how long.

"Well, from my first look at everything, I'm sorry to say that I think your computer is fine. It's loading everything and running speedtests as it should. I would be happy to run a more thorough test, if you have a new minutes," you offered and Steve nodded. Instinctively, you ran an ethernet cable from the hub at the bar to the computer and forced the computer to restart into a netboot, selecting the diagnostic suite from the multitudes of hard disk images that loaded onto the screen.

"I had a feeling they were bullshitting me, but I'm not very good with any of this, so why not waste an afternoon?"

"Hey now, it's not a total waste. I'm going to check everything out on your computer and make sure there isn't anything else going on with it. Plus, you did get to meet me, and I'm pretty great," you laughed as the diagnostics ran. Just as you suspected, everything started to come back with green checkmarks, a sign that nothing was failing. "Sorry Steve, Comcast sucks. You'll probably have to have the tech come back out again."

Steve nodded, accepting the diagnosis much better than you had anticipated he would take it. With a few keystrokes you forced the computer back down and let it boot back up like normal. You knew he was watching you, all the customers did, but this felt different. It wasn't like he was watching what you were doing on his computer, but more like he was watching how you worked. Disconnecting the ethernet cable, you tied it into a neat knot and threw it back into the hole in the table. You tried so hard to ignore his eyes on your skin as you typed up notes for the appointment, explaining everything you did to come to the conclusion that it wasn't his computer that was having issues. You could feel him watching you, practically hear the gears turning in his brain even over the noise of the toddler having a full blown meltdown at the kids table.

"I don't trust them anymore and I definitely don't want them coming back," he started, closing his laptop in front of him. He shifted in his seat, leaning his body towards yours, making sure that his impossibly blue eyes looked up into your own, "What if you came out to help fix it? You obviously know what you're doing, way more than those guys."

"That's very kind of you, Steve, but I can't. House calls are hugely frowned upon here," you tried, fighting a battle within yourself. You wanted to see him again, of course. He was devastatingly handsome, and it would be nice to be able to show him that you cleaned up decently. But you knew that doing side work was a fireable offence, and you couldn't risk losing your job.

"Of course, I don't want to get you into any kind of trouble," he reasoned as he slipped his computer into his leather satchel and took out his phone, "Then I guess I'm just going to have to take you out for dinner too, so that we can call it a date instead," and he slid the phone over to you with a new contact page open.

His blue eyes caught your own and you couldn't help but chew a little on your bottom lip. There was nothing in the manual about dating a customer, even if you knew it was a completely superficial date. Plus, a little tech support, a little dinner, a lot of eye candy; there were worse ways to spend a day. No one really had to know.

"I'm off tomorrow," you whispered as you typed your number into his phone.

"Who was that guy?" Karen asked as the two of you stepped back through the locked doors down to the break room. Karen was good at her job, but spent more time worrying about her nails and when her next hair appointment was than internet speeds. "I saw him sit down and I honestly wanted to cherry pick him from the queue, but I was stuck doing an activation unlock."

"I don't know, just a guy. Typical wifi issues, can't recreate them in store so I told him that Comcast lied to him," you brushed off, trying to throw off any lingering feelings of guilt… or excitement.

"That wasn't just some guy. The girls in the repair room were taking turns peeking out the door to get a look at him. He was insanely hot, like you know a guy like that will make you feel sore in the morning." And she gave you a knowing look.

"I mean…" and you really didn't want to keep this conversation going, thoughts of Steve stretching your legs in the best of ways starting to float into your mind. "He was polite, funny even. Not a bad appointment."

"I'm sorry to tell you, but I hope you fucked it up so he has to come back. You lucked the fuck out with that one."

It was insanity, really. A moment of weakness. When his eyes caught yours you just felt compelled to take him up on his offer, consequences be damned.

He probably wouldn't call anyway.

That's what you kept telling yourself, at least.

But the way he looked at you, the knowing smirk he gave when he watched you type in your number into his phone, his warm handshake (and the $20 bill he slipped you as a tip), he made it nearly impossible to resist. Every time you tried to put him out of your mind, his eyes, his lips, the way his thin shirt stretched across his chest wouldn't leave you alone. There was something there, something that lived just under the surface, something that told you that this wasn't the last time you were going to see Steve Rogers.

It was no wonder you woke up early on your day off, treated yourself to a long, hot shower, scrubbed and shaved every inch of your skin to make sure it was touchably smooth. You even spent time doing your hair and a touch of makeup, just enough to accentuate your features but not enough to make it look like you were trying too hard.

But 1, 2, 3 pm rolled around and you phone was suspiciously silent. You even checked your watch several times to make sure that it was unlocked and actually receiving notifications. By this time the curls you had managed to put in your hair had all but fallen flat, your perfume worn off and lipstick faded. You sat on your couch, idly flipping between the three channels you got with you antenna. He wanted to talk about a waste of a day? You hadn't done anything else today, and you really needed to go grocery shopping, or snake out your bathtub so you weren't standing in drano water every time you showered, or anything other than being a pathetic loser.

The vibration on your wrist came so suddenly you nearly fell off the couch.

"I hope you're still up for some Itilian" an unknown number flashed across the screen. It had to be Steve. You hoped it was Steve, or else this meeting was going to be incredibly awkward.

"Pasta is exactly what I'm up for," you typed out quickly, running to your room to change into something other than yoga pants.

"Perfect. The car will be there in about ten minutes. Mind sharing your address so he finds the right place?"

You sent him your address and asked him to let you know the details of the Uber driver so you knew who to look for. Ten minutes? Suddenly sitting around all day didn't seem to give you enough time to look exactly how you wanted. You knew you had to wear jeans, being that you were most likely going to have to crawl somewhere to run cable. Still, you picked your tightest, nicest pair of dark wash skinny jeans, the ones that hugged your ass so much you couldn't wear them to work. You paired them with a black silk off the shoulder blouse, with long sleeves and delicate lace along the neckline. It did a nice job of showing you off while still being modest.

Maybe Steve really did just need tech support, and maybe dinner was just his way of being nice, of showing you how much he appreciated your help. But something in your gut told you that wasn't true, that there was something else about it. With a final check of your hair and makeup, you grabbed your bag with everything you thought you would need and headed down to the curb.

But when you got down there, it wasn't an Uber.

"I sent my driver, Thomas. He's in the BMW today. Should be easy to spot."

Easy to spot it was. You prided yourself on the fact that you managed to find reasonable rent in a neighborhood that wasn't Murder Central, but the cars that lined your street weren't exactly on the same level as the matte black BMW M550 that was waiting just beyond the gate.

"Are you here for me?" You called to him as you let yourself out of the complex.

"That depends. Are you the one who is going to fix Mr. Rogers' wifi?" Thomas replied with a thick Chicago accent. You could tell right away that he was a native, probably was born and raised here. He was a timid looking man, middle aged, with a thick head of black hair that looked like he tried to comb it at one point. He wasn't exactly dressed like a professional driver, although he wasn't sloppy either. He wore dark jeans, a white button-up shirt, and a sport jacket with some fine leather loafers. To be fair, you had expected an Uber, so having a private driver in this kind of car was already an upgrade.

"That I am," and you shook his hand before introducing yourself. Thomas held the door for you as you scooted into the luxurious back seat of the car. The interior was fully black, leather of course, and the seats were so deep and plush that you could definitely sleep back there. This car made yours weep in its inefficiency. Thomas closed the door and got into the driver's seat, punching a few things on the center touch screen before he continued down your street.

"Temperature okay, miss? Anything in particular you would like to listen to?" he asked, trying to catch your eye in the rearview mirror.

"I'm more than fine, thanks. And I'm pretty flexible in other people's cars so anything on the radio is fine by me," you responded, trying your best to not be more of a burden than you already were. All of this was so over the top. There wasn't a single moment in your interaction the day before that had tipped you off. There wasn't a thing about him that screamed that he had this kind of money. Sure, Steve was well-dressed, but your store was a Flagship, it wasn't out of place for people to come in wearing suits or designers. Though, most people who were this well off had their assistants bring in their devices, never doing the dirty work themselves. "Thomas, do you know what it is that Steve does?"

Thomas turned the car and headed onto the highway, going north. "He's a businessman, miss. Of what, I really couldn't say. I do know he's self made, started out in Brooklyn and made it to where he is now. He's not particularly flashy but when he does make an investment, he expects a return. And, so far, his investments have been right."

You nodded and gave a weak smile. Businessman? An investment banker you supposed. That seemed so boring though, so… _vanilla_ for the guy who almost made you giggle through your entire appointment, like a little schoolgirl.

"Where is his house?" you casually asked, trying to not sound so obviously curious about him.

"Outside the city. Mr. Rogers wanted someplace that was a bit more secluded," Thomas answered and you sat back in your seat. Your apartment was already pretty far out of the Loop, so going north only meant that he was out in the suburbs. You had expected that he lived in a nicer neighborhood, like Wicker Park or even right on the lake, with a spectacular view. Still, you settled yourself in for the drive.

"How long have you been driving for Steve?" you couldn't help but ask, dying to know exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Thomas perked up at your question, his eyes darting between the expressway and the rearview mirror. "I've known Mr. Rogers for about a year now, but I've only been driving him for a few months. I'm more of an assistant than chauffeur. Sometimes I'll travel with him, make sure things run smoothly so he can focus on his business, things like that."

"Travel? Does he travel a lot?"

"Frequently, he's quite busy."

"His wife must be a very patient lady," you dropped casually and Thomas caught your eye in the mirror.

"Mr. Rogers is very single."

A/N: The start of a series so subscribe to make sure to get the updates as soon as they come out! Please read and review! I love talking with my readers and reviews fuel my brain. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2 - I Really Like You

**A/N:** Please read and review! Reviews are like crack.

The drive seemed like it was taking forever. You had lived around the Chicagoland area your entire life, but never to these suburbs. These were the affluent suburbs, the ones where you could still get a lake view and send your kids to great high schools. And as Thomas drove, the trees became denser, the houses further apart from each other, the driveways gated. It was a welcome feeling when the car finally pulled into one and came to a stop.

Your door opened from the outside, Thomas not letting you let yourself out, and you accepted his hand as you stood to get your bearings. Even from the side, you knew the house was massive. Light tan brick lined the outside, warm stained wooden accents giving it character. Three heavy oaken garage doors lined your path over to the main entrance, a curved face and brick columns setting the huge double doors back from the porch. It was intimidating, to say the least. Steve had money, that much had become obvious when he sent his driver to pick you up. But this, this house was meant for a massive family, not one bachelor to rattle around all day by himself. Only Bruce Wayne did weird things like that. Thomas once again held the door for you as you made your way into the manor.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure where Mr. Rogers might be…" Thomas said more to himself than to you, and all you could do was follow him around like a lost puppy. Most of the rooms that you walked through were empty, or still had boxes stacked in them. Steve wasn't kidding when he said he just moved in. Still, with a house that big, there were probably going to be rooms that he never used.

But this final room was going to get used a lot. Floor to ceiling windows gave way to the ultimate view of Lake Michigan, the turquoise blue waters stretching further than the eye could see. They encased a dark slate floor, a large pool sunken into the middle of it, which had the second-best view coming out of it.

"Thomas, I didn't expect you back so soon," Steve called out as he took the steps out of the pool. The water clung to his toned body, cutting paths over his skin and following the cut of his pecs down over his abs. Instinctively, your lips parted and you couldn't help but try to sneak a peek of his wet swim shorts before he wrapped a towel firmly around his waist. He managed to catch your eye and he gave you a small knowing smirk before walking over, his hand outstretched towards you. "I'm very glad you could make it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rogers. There wasn't as much traffic as I anticipated," Thomas tried to explain, but Steve refused to take his eyes off of you as you shook his hand.

"It's fine. Why don't you show our guest to the kitchen while I go get changed?" Steve suggested and Thomas nodded, gesturing for you to go through first. With a small smile, you looked back over your shoulder at the younger man and he flashed you that same shy smile he gave you when you first met, his fingers combing back his wet hair.

Back through the rooms you went until you made it to what you presumed was the main kitchen, although there were probably a few others hidden around this castle. This kitchen was expansive, with warm oak cabinets that were perfectly set off by the dark marble countertops. However, even the large island with a stainless steel chef's stove in it wasn't the most impressive thing. No, this kitchen was built around a _tree._ There was what looked to be a rather large and old tree that had forked two of its branches from one edge of the kitchen towards the middle and continuing on through the ceiling. You craned your neck, looking up along the trunk, trying to figure out if it went on into the middle of the room above the kitchen or if it was purely decorative.

"It's real. It's why I bought the place," Steve's voice rang out, loud and true against all the wood, and it broke you out of your own mind. He had changed into some dark jeans and a light gray henley that was just tight enough to hint at the form that was underneath. His hair was still damp from the pool but he combed it back again, a few stray tendrils falling gently over his forehead. It made him look...softer in a way.

"Does it keep going?" you asked, unable to resist knowing more.

He nodded as he stepped fully into the room, "Upstairs, and even down in the basement. The original owners of the property planted many of the trees that now make the forest surrounding the house. The land was passed down through generations and once the house was being built, they couldn't bear to cut down the trees just to make room. So, they built the house around the trees."

"That's a beautiful sentiment," you murmured, your fingers lightly tracing some veins in the bark, "And now the house was passed onto you."

"No, sadly, I bought it. The final owners from the family had no children of their own, and it's much too big of a house for them to manage now that they're retired. But, in the land deed, it states that no trees can be cut down for any reason besides disease or fire, which is all well and good with me. I prefer having a bit of nature around to get away from all the concrete of the city."

You nodded, understanding that sentiment. Personally, the city suited you, but if you lived in a house in the middle of the forest, you could be swayed. You tore yourself away from the tree and set your bag down on the island, fishing out your computer. No matter how Steve managed to get you there, you still had a job to do, "So there's no internet at all? Where did they set up the box?"

"There's a butler's pantry over on the other side of this wall that I think has it all in it. They said they had to run a line from the outside, but they would hide it through here," he instructed, leading you over to another small room off of the main kitchen that adjoined to a dining room. On the same wall as the kitchen, there was a full-length countertop, cabinets both high and low. A full-sized wine refrigerator stood on the opposite wall with a full sink. It didn't seem to matter that there were still a few boxes labeled 'dishes' scattered around; the wine fridge was stocked and the glasses were hung carefully in their rack. Priorities, really.

The modem and router sat unceremoniously on the counter, the lights blinking furiously with signal. At first glance, everything seemed to be set up how it should have been. You ran your fingers along each connection, trying to tighten any that you could. Unplugging the ethernet cable that went to the router, you plugged it in directly to your computer, confirming that there actually was a signal coming into it.

"May I tempt you with a glass of wine while you work?" Steve asked, already picking out a bottle before you could even answer. Would it have mattered if you had said no? He took down two generous sized glasses and poured equally as generous amounts of a red wine, handing one to you. Barely looking up, you took it from him between typing some basic commands into the terminal app. "So, what's the news, Genius? Do I need to sue Comcast?"

The commands ran, doing some basic ping tests while you took sips of wine. "No, it actually looks like you're getting internet in. Something has to be up with the router, and that sadly isn't Comcast."

Steve leaned back against the sink as the tests finished and you reconnected the two, giving everything a moment to boot back up. You were keenly aware that he was watching you, probably to make sure you weren't fucking up completely, but part of you didn't think that was why. He wasn't watching your hands, or what you were typing, he was watching how you moved, his eyes raking down your body and back. "You really enjoy all this tech stuff, huh?" he asked, an unmistakable smirk across his lips.

"Yeah, I do," you started, connecting to the wifi, "Computers just sort of talk to me. I just know how to fix them, sort of on instinct," you attempted to explain. Maybe that wine was starting to hit faster than you anticipated.

"Well, that's good. It's a gift, being able to do what you do. I'm lucky if I can manage to send a video through text," he bemused and you couldn't help but giggle.

"It takes all types. There's no way I would be able to do what you do," you responded, noticing that you had good wifi signal right here next to the router.

"What is it that you think I do?" he asked curiously, shoving his hands in his pockets but not giving up his position on the counter.

"Investment banking or something," you responded nonchalantly, gesturing vaguely at the house. Honestly, you had no clue. An investor didn't have money like this to burn, and more than likely wouldn't burn it on a private driver and reserves of wine. He had to be higher up than just upper management. He owned something, something big. Something you had heard of before.

Now he was the one who laughed, "Yeah, I do something alright."

But that's all he said. You itched to push that button, to move that line a little more towards him, but thought it best to not. He obviously didn't want to be very forthcoming with what he did. Instead, you bit your bottom lip nervously, going back to the issue with the wifi. Which, there didn't seem to actually be one.

"Are you able to get signal in the dining room?" you asked, trying to push away the thought that maybe Steve lured you here under false pretenses.

He took a few steps out and unsheathed his phone from his pocket, thumbing through a few apps as you reran the tests through your computer. "Yeah, I do now. Did you fix it?" he called.

"I don't really think it was ever broken…" but you had a hunch something was messing with the signal, "Can you come over to the kitchen and try?"

Steve crossed between the rooms, passing by you with a glance and an impressed smirk. You nodded appreciatively as you sipped more wine, following him back out to the kitchen and positioning yourself next to the microwave.

"Yeah, it's working great here too," he responded. With a few button presses, you started the microwave and waited for his reaction.

"What the hell?"

"Nothing loading now?" you voiced over the light hum.

"Not even Twitter. What happened?"

Just as you thought. The technicians they sent out to do these installs really were idiots, "Were you microwaving anything while they were here?"

Steve thought for a moment before answering, "I was baking a potato."

"In the microwave," you deadpanned.

"Single guy, didn't want to order delivery again and I wasn't going to heat up the house in the summer with the oven," he retorted as you stopped the microwave from cooking nothing, "So when the microwave is on, I can't get wifi?"

"You can, we just need to move the equipment further away from it. Right now, they put the box right behind it on the other side of the wall," you explained, turning to go back to your computer, "It's all waves, so we just need to make sure they don't interfere."

He followed you back into the pantry and topped up both your glasses, indicating that you weren't leaving anytime soon, even after you fixed his issue. "That's pretty bullshit, you know, that microwaves fuck with wifi. I mean, we sent people to the goddamn moon with something that has less power than my phone. You would think we could figure out how to be able to use two things at once."

You shook your head a little as you moved the equipment to another spot, "You will, they just can't be so close to each other." His whining wasn't anything new for you; you heard the privileged bitch and moan about the slightest inconvenience all the time. Still, it was your day off and you didn't really want to have to acknowledge, align, and assure right now. You decided on a spot that wasn't right behind the microwave, allowing the wifi to work without having to try to drill more holes in his walls. Thankfully, the Comcast techs did leave plenty of cable, so you were able to run it along the baseboards to keep it neat and tidy. In general, Steve stayed out of your way, mostly just providing wine and conversation, but never really leaving you totally to your work.

You found it easy to talk to him. He was charming, in a little bit of a self-deprecating asshole kind of way. He had a way of getting you to do what he wanted, like when he said he didn't feel like Italian anymore and instead ordered poké for the two of you. He had a way of talking that just made it hard for you to contradict him. But you didn't seem to mind. Maybe it was the wine. Or, maybe it was the way he looked at you, both like he was thoroughly impressed and turned on. The thought that he might actually be attracted to you was enough to set your heart racing. You knew it wasn't real, but it was still a nice thought.

"I'm sorry I don't have a proper dining set yet, but I hope this will suffice," he called as he brought the bags of dinner out onto the deck. With the glasses and a fresh bottle of wine, you followed him out the back. The deck was expansive, opening up to the land that rolled down into the lakefront. Off to the side of the deck was a built-in seating area, a couch that faced the lake, and a stone gravel fire pit that Steve pushed the button to light when he knew he had your attention.

"Very impressive, Mr. Rogers," you congratulated and he bowed with false modesty, "Might as well make the most of nights like this while you can."

"You mean Chicago doesn't stay summer year-round? Someone lied to me," he mocked as he took his place next to you on the couch, leaning back and stretching his arm across the back. Setting the glasses of wine on the fire pit, you pulled your legs under you to get more comfortable as you dug into your poké.

"Sadly, no, but I'm sure you've heard of this thing we have here? It's called seasons. Surely you must have seasons back in Brooklyn?" you threw back at him and he couldn't help but grin into his glass.

"Brooklyn, eh? How did you peg me being from there?" he mused after a moment and your mouth suddenly went dry. Instantly you knew you had said too much. Maybe Thomas was mistaken? Or maybe it was information that he shouldn't have given you at all?

"I… I could hear it in the way you talk," you chimed, "Sometimes it slips out when you talk quickly."

Steve looked you over again, making you feel like you were being scanned. He had a way of doing that, but this time it didn't really make you feel good.

"You're a terrible liar."

You let your eyes slip from his and into the fire. Suddenly, you wanted to go home. You had been finished with your task ages ago and the wine stopped being good even before that. "Only to you."

Deep down, it upset you a little bit that he saw right through you so quickly. It scared you what that could mean. You were always able to lie to anyone. You had lied to your bosses, customers, your exes, your own mother through most of high school. It was easy to lie when you believed it enough. Why did any of it matter anyway? This was strictly a one night, one-time thing. You weren't ever going to see him again so why was he able to get under your skin so easily?

"Hey, come back to me," he gently prodded and with a soft hand, he turned your face back towards him, "I thought we were having a good time?"

"We were…" you started, feeling very young and small when he was right in front of you. Your eyes couldn't help but roam over his jawline, noticing how the curves of his mouth were slightly turned down, how his brows knitted together. He was a nightmare for you to even try to read. It was like his brain, his emotions were locked away in a vault. You trusted him, but then again, you had no idea just how dangerous that could be.

His chest rose and fell softly as he took some breaths, his hand falling from your face but still rested just above your knee, "How about we make a deal? How about we decide right now to cut the bullshit and not lie to each other? I've found it makes things much easier."

You took a long drink of your wine. Yes, it did make things easier, but so did little white lies. You were a firm believer that there were always some truths that didn't need to be spoken into existence. However, this was not one of them and that line from earlier was begging to be pushed in his direction, "Does that deal go both ways? You won't lie to me either?"

"I haven't lied to you yet," he retorted.

"But you also won't tell me what you do for work…" you let slip from your lips. He was correct, he hadn't lied. But he hadn't been truthful either.

He raised his eyes up to yours, his jaw set and clenched just for a moment before he swallowed. You half expected him to call for Mike to come to take you home, or even just told you to see yourself out. But as the seconds passed and the waves hit the shore, he didn't back down.

"No, not yet. Another time, soon. I promise," and he gently but confidently squeezed your thigh.


	3. Chapter 3 - Love So Soft

A/N:Thank you for reading! I swear things are actually going to start happening haha. Your reviews mean so much to me and they really do help motivate me to keep this going. Please consider letting me know what you think, either here or on Tumblr (Hysteria87) Thanks again!

You wanted to stay. You really did. You wanted to keep drinking the wine, letting the sun fall behind you. You wanted to keep hearing about Brooklyn and arguing why Chicago was better (obviously.) You wanted time to stop.

Until your watch tapped you on your wrist with a message: "It's time to go to bed to get 8 hours of sleep."

Shit.

Work.

Steve insisted on having Thomas bring you back, even though you tried to tell him an Uber would be easier. It really didn't make sense to have the poor man drive you all the way back to the city only to have to come back out to the suburbs. But Steve wouldn't hear it.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he said as he fished a long white envelope from one of the kitchen drawers. He placed it on the island in front of you, laying a $100 bill on top of it, "And your tip, for a job well done."

Benjamin Franklin's dead eyes stared into your face from the countertop.

Alarms went off in your head. $100 was way too much money for the work you had done. But there was still the side of you want knew that you could have used an extra $100 right now. "No, Steve, don't worry about it. Dinner was more than enough thanks," and you slid the envelope back towards him.

"This isn't a thanks," he started, his voice having a hardness to it that hadn't been there before, "If there's one thing you need to know about me it's that I pay well for people who do their job well. You figured out the issue, fixed it, and it took less time than I thought it would. That level of service deserves adequate payment, plus a little more for next time."

Well, at least no one could say that you hadn't tried to give the money back. Your hand slowly slipped the envelope back towards yourself and you stuffed it into your bag for safekeeping. A smirk finally cracked across his lips as he watched you.

"Next time?" you asked softly, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Go, Thomas has been waiting for you and he would like to get back home before 1 in the morning," and he placed a gentle palm on the small of your back, ignoring your question and bringing you back to the same door you came in through. The whole thing was so rushed you barely heard him say that he would call you when he needed you again. Before you knew it, you were back in the back of the car and Thomas was on the road.

No kiss goodnight.

Not even a hug.

When he needed you again?

For what? He obviously knew you could fix networking issues and probably guessed from your job that you could do computers, but how much technology did he need to get fixed? Maybe he thought that if he kept buying you dinner, then he didn't have to come all the way into the city and make an appointment when he needed tech support? The thought of that made you a bit uneasy. This really was a one-time thing. No matter how rich or attractive Steve was, you still wouldn't put your job on the line to help him. No, he would have to be a regular customer, just like everyone else.

The alarm went off way too early, a far cry from the day before when you pampered yourself. You checked your phone out of habit and found nothing but the same junk emails and random app notifications. Nothing from him. Not that you expected there to be, but the thought still itched in your brain as you got ready for work. Why did you want him to text you so badly? What would he have to text about anyway? You did a job, you drank his wine, he paid you. Transaction complete. There was no need for any sort of follow up communication.

But you still wished he would have checked to make sure you had gotten home okay. Of course, he would have gotten that report from Thomas, but still. Or if not that, then maybe a good morning message? That he had a good time last night? A video of him doing morning exercises shirtless to prove that he could actually use technology? That would have been nice. Of course, you could have messaged him first, but why in the hell would you do a thing like that?

As you opened the heavy glass door, you tried to not glance at the end of the bar while you passed it by. You didn't want to be reminded of him any more than you already were. Luckily, the first half of your shift was opening phone repair. Nothing but cracked screens and dead batteries to keep your mind far, far away from the secluded woods of the suburbs.

You practically drifted through the break room, locking your things in a locker and taking your place at the bench in the repair room. You took solace in the fact that at this time of the morning, everyone else was either on the floor for huddle or too much in their own minds to give a shit about you. That's exactly how you wanted it. No one would remember your customer from two days prior. Hell, they would be hard-pressed to remember their own customers from the beginning of a shift. Strapping in, you nestled down into your seat and began taking the screws out of the bottom of one of the waiting phones.

"Oh my god, I heard about your guy from the other day," Ashley's voice pierced through the droning rap beat coming from the homepod. Your eyes snapped up from the phone that was open in front of you, but you didn't dare turn your head to meet her own. Ashley didn't do appointments like most everyone else, but instead kept track of the resulting repairs and handled customer questions. She was good at her job… and good at being nosy. Taking a moment to steel your nerves, you swallowed.

"Which guy?" you played dumb, trying your best to hide the fact that you were at his house having your proverbial pants charmed off by him less than 12 hours prior.

"The guy. Like, the super hot guy," she tried, squeezing her way between you and your friend Megan who was doing repairs next to you, "Bar 4, blonde hair, you could pretty much see his pecs through his shirt."

"Umm, excuse me but I'm trying to do work here…" Megan mumbled, annoyed at the invasion of her space. Ashley just ignored her.

"Oh, yeah, that guy. What about him?" you stated, going back to the phone you had been working on. Maybe she would get the hint that you really didn't want to talk about the super hot guy from the other day.

"What was the issue?"

"With his computer?" and you pretended to try to remember it, "I don't know, wifi I think?"

"Was it under warranty? Do you remember his name?" and she left her perch to go to her own computer.

"What does it matter anyway? Did I fuck up his appointment or something?" You were starting to get angry about it all. None of this was really anyone's business. It was a whopping 10-minute appointment with a hot guy; these girls really needed to get a life.

"His name was Steve… Rogers, I think," Karen's voice called out from the doorway and all you could do was roll your eyes.

"Seriously, does this guy have a chocolate dick or something? Why are you guys obsessed with him and not letting us do our fucking work?" Megan asked, more bite to her voice than usual.

"What about a chocolate dick?" Brian asked from the computer repair corner, having clearly ignored the conversation until just that moment.

"The computer was under warranty," Ashley announced after searching on her computer for a moment, "You should have depoted it."

"The computer didn't have any goddamn issues," you bit back, clearly done with this conversation.

"Yeah, but then he would have had to come back, and then I would have gotten to talk to him," Ashley thought out loud and Karen nodded, agreeing.

"I wasn't going to fucking waste his time sending out a computer that didn't have any issues just so you two could undress him with your eyes again," you raised your voice. Seriously, if you weren't on edge about the whole thing before, you were now. This was the last place you wanted Steve to come back to. If you could help it, you wanted to keep him as separate from your work life as possible.

But your reasoning fell on deaf ears. Ashley and Karen had ignored you entirely, opting to sing along to the Drake that was playing over the homepod:

_Make that face up if you dare, but just be prepared that_

_I am gonna cause that lipstick to smear_

_And the mascara tears to run down_

_I always need a glass of wine by sundown_

_I always get your ass over here somehow_

_I hope that the apocalypse is the only thing that doesn't come now_

_Well, what now?_

You sighed into the phone, slipping it into the cradle to reseal it. So, people had remembered him. You didn't know why it surprised you; the girls at this store were so thirsty that they wanted anyone who wasn't one of their coworkers. But, in a way, you were protective of him. They didn't know him like you did.

But did you really know him either? Sure, you knew where he lived, and why he lived where he lived. You knew that he loved going back to Brooklyn whenever he got the chance to go to New York, he still craved hot dogs from Coney Island, and he believed New York pizza was better (even though he was wrong on that.) Steve was an only child, his parents passing away when he was young. You knew that he had money, not that it mattered really, and he was a bit of a flirt to get what he wanted out of you.

But still, you had no real idea of what it was that he actually did or what his company was about. You didn't know about any friends, or even really his age. And last night you thought you knew how he felt about you, but then when he didn't even offer a kiss or give a text this morning, all you knew was that he was bent on keeping you at an arm's length. The night had ended so transactionally, so quickly, with no hint if it was going to repeat ever again.

The transaction. The envelope. Shit, you had forgotten all about it. Maybe it had some clue, an invite or something, as to when you were going to see him again. Thankfully, it was still in your bag that was down in your locker, but there was no getting it until you got to break for lunch.

Suddenly the screen of your phone lit up, showing a front camera view of the bench.

**Steve would like to FaceTime**

An inconceivable noise came from your throat as you practically lept from your chair, unstrapping yourself from the bench. He was Facetiming you, actually Facetiming you, while you were at work, at the worst fucking moment. You grabbed your phone and bolted from the repair room into the relative privacy of the hallway.

"Jesus, what the hell? Does anyone work anymore?" you could hear Megan yell after you.

"I'm sorry…" you called back, pulling a hand through your hair and taking a breath before accepting the call.

The screen changed over and you couldn't help the smile that crawled across your lips.

"Hey beautiful," he crooned softly, his deep voice still tinged from sleep. His hair fell into those soft tendrils that you itched to comb back for him and he stared back at you with those half-lidded blue eyes. God, he knew exactly what he was doing. Two could play at that game.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers," you purred back, your voice deep in the back of your throat and breathy enough to make him think naughty thoughts. The effect worked by the hitch in his breath, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he regained himself. He was surrounded by white pillows, the mid-morning sun kissing his skin just enough to make it glow as he laid in his bed. "Are you just now getting up?"

"Yes, I am. But in my defense, I had an incredibly smart woman keeping me up all night. Some might even call her a… genius?" God, even over the small, tinny speaker of your phone he sounded good.

"Oh, well, that genius is working," you slipped back, wishing so badly that you weren't, "Is there something I can help you with or did you just call to show me that you do indeed know how to use your phone?"

"I'm bored," he whined a little, "Come over so we can talk and drink and hang out and other stuff," and he purposely let the camera on his phone angle down, giving you a generous view of his muscular chest and abs. Other stuff? This man was evil. Pure evil. The blush rose up and dusted your cheeks, unable to deny the spark he lit within you. You wanted so badly to be in that bed with him, to have him actually be looking at you and whining. Steve Rogers was going to be bad for you, you could tell.

"I can't, you know I can't," you lamented and he moved the camera back up.

He ran a hand over his sleepy face before insisting, "C'mon, just leave and come over. I'll send Thomas to come pick you up. We won't even have to leave the bed." You got the feeling that he would be the type of guy who held onto your hand as you were trying to leave, who tried every distraction in the book to get what he wanted.

"I can't," you maintained quietly. If you had the money, you would be there in a heartbeat. But, as it were, you were not an investment banker and could not afford to sleep in until you were well-rested.

He gave an exasperated sigh but didn't push it further and you were glad for that. One more pouty-lipped please and you may have actually gone.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow," he switched, bringing it up so casually that it was hard to believe that that wasn't why he really had called.

Was this an actual proper invitation for a dinner date? Not a ruse for free tech support and to make sure that you retained your job, this was a real desire to take you out on a date. Like a 'let's get to know each other and explore possible romantic feelings' type of date. Like a 'if it goes well you might be able to touch those abs' kind of date. Like a 'I'll make sure you don't go to work the next day' kind of date.

"Where do you want to take me?" you asked, trying to make your voice sound casual. After all, you hadn't said yes yet.

He pondered for a moment, clearly thrown off that you didn't leap at his invitation, "I was reading about this restaurant while on a flight, Alinea I think it's called…"

"No."

"No?"

"No. You're not taking me to Alinea, Steve," you rebuked, "First off, it's like a three month waiting period, if not more. And second, its $400 a person." Alinea was the type of place people went for their 10th wedding anniversary. It was more of a food experience than a restaurant. A food experience with a price tag that made you choke.

Steve looked directly into the camera like he had no idea why you were getting upset about restaurant prices. "... and?"

"No, Steve. I will not go to dinner with you. Not if you want to take me to Alinea for a first date."

His hand moved over his face again, his eyes finally starting to wake up and the wheels in his brain dusting themselves off. "Okay, fine. I'll save that one for another time," he sighed, "What about… the Signature Room?"

The Signature Room was the restaurant at the top of the John Hancock tower. It was gorgeous up there, floor to ceiling windows to give a full 360 view of the city and the lake. Rumor has it that on a clear day, one could see all the way across the lake to Michigan. You only ever heard about the Signature Room, never being able to afford to go there yourself. It was expensive… but at least it wasn't Alinea expensive.

"Okay, yes, I will have dinner with you at the Signature Room tomorrow."

Finally, he cracked a sleepy smile that you were dying to try to kiss off of his lips. "Perfect. Then I'll see you tomorrow, say about 7:30?"

"Tomorrow it is." and you couldn't help but bite your bottom lip, trying so hard to not let your excitement bubble up from your chest.

"I still think you should ditch your job and come over," he tried one last time.

"Steve…" you warned, a smile firmly planted across your lips.

"Have a good rest of your day at work, Genius," he crooned as he disconnected, his eyes meeting your own through the screen. All the insecurities and doubts from the night before vanished just as easily as your screen turned off.

He wanted you.

He wanted you for real.

He wanted you badly enough to tempt you with a good time and made sure he would get to see you for a third time before the week was done. You might as well have gone over; there was no way you were going to be able to concentrate on customer issues now. Not when Steve Rogers wanted you.

"Holy. Fuck." Ashley's voice rang out from behind you.


	4. Chapter 4 - Candyman

**A/N**: _Thank you for your patience. I broke my wrist two weeks ago, so typing has been slow. Each comment means so so much to me and really lets me know that you all care about this movie in my head. Thanks for reading!_

"Oh my god. Oh my god! You're dating him. You're going on a date with your hot customer!" Ashley fired off in rapid succession.

"I am not dating him," you tried, the excitement of the call draining out of your body and into the floor. Fuck. So much for trying to keep things quiet and separate.

"_He FaceTimed you from his bed_!" She practically yelled and you had to reach out to try and shush her.

"He…" and you hesitated, knowing that the truth was less damning personally but much worse professionally, "He asked for my number after the appointment. Like you keep saying, he's hot, so I gave it to him. I didn't think he would actually call."

"But he did call! From bed!" and she clapped for emphasis. Was that really necessary? "And now you're going on a date with him. Girl, you better look fucking hot, you can't blow this for the rest of us who will have to live vicariously through you."

You tried your hardest to ignore her as you took your seat back at the bench. No one was going to live vicariously through you, that was for damn sure. You didn't even want any of them to know. But now Ashley did, and she was the biggest gossipmonger in the whole store. You prayed a silent prayer that Steve would never actually come in again and put it in your mind to tell him to not FaceTime you at work.

But still, that tiny bubble of excitement in the pit of your stomach refused to burst. So many things were right. He called. He wanted you to come over. He tried to seduce you. He set a date when you were going to see him again. He called you beautiful, and smart, and made damn sure your brain was hijacked by thoughts of him and only him. If the visual of him getting out of the pool the day before wasn't enough, then seeing his bedding just barely high enough on his hips to keep him modest was. God, could a man like that actually exist? Cool, confident, too charming for his own good, gave you the butterfly feeling in your stomach, and was wrapped up in the perfect god body? Steve Rogers was just too much.

Lunchtime was more than welcome. You were dying to get out of that noisy repair room, Ashley choosing every date and slow jam song she could think of to play as loud as she could. The way she could hold a secret, you expected the entire store to know by the day's end.

But, when your brain wasn't creating scenarios where Steve fed you strawberries in bed, your thoughts drifted back down to the envelope. Practically falling down the stairs, you made your way to the break room and grabbed your bag from the locker, settling into one of the empty chairs at the table. A few others were sitting near, but most everyone had headphones on or were watching something on their phones. Discreetly you found the bill from the night before, folding it neatly in half and shoving it into your wallet before lifting the flap of the envelope.

2

4

10

13

15

Right? You counted them again, opening the sides wider to make sure you could get an accurate count.

Fifteen $20 bills… "What the fuck…" fell softly from your lips.

20, 40, 60, 80, 100.

20, 40, 60, 80, 200.

20, 40, 60, 80, 300. $300, $400 with the tip he left on top. Steve had paid you for the tech support and paid you way more than your agreed upon dinner. He paid you nearly a third of your paycheck for maybe 40 minutes of actual work. The rest of the time you were there was spent talking with him, getting to know him and spending time with him. $400 for 40 minutes was outrageous.

And he had said that he "almost forgot" the envelope. It had been sealed and in that drawer before you even got to his house. He was planning on paying you no matter how long it took for you to fix the issue, if you even could fix it. The rest of the night had just been a bonus.

Quickly, you stuffed the envelope and its contents back into your bag, making sure it was covered by lesser necessities. It felt weird knowing you had that much cash on you, and it felt even weirder knowing that you knew someone who could pay like that, and so willingly paid like that. No wonder he didn't seem to think Alinea was expensive; he spent the same amount on you for _40 fucking minutes of work. _

Which now made the date feel incredibly fucking awkward. He didn't need to be trying to buy your affections; if he just opened up a little, he would get to see that he already had them. You decided right then and there that you would give the money back. You couldn't keep it in good conscious. You wanted to date him for who he was, not for his money.

The rest of your shift was dull, secretly wishing that your phone would go off again with anything from Steve. But, as you got home and stripped off your uniform, nothing came. God, when did you get like this? When did a guy's attention dictate your mood? When did it start to matter? Sometime between the night before and this morning, when you had been sleeping, that's when the shift started inside of your head. That's when Steve started to matter to you as more than just the hot customer at Bar 4.

The next morning, you woke up later than you usually do, your body making up for the lack of sleep over the past few nights. You stretched in your bed, feeling every muscle wake up for the day. Wednesday. Day off. Date day. And like any other girl, prep was going to start asap. Every inch of you was getting scrubbed and shaved, slathered in moisturizer and plucked into perfection. If you thought you had pampered yourself last time, this was practically a medspa. After all, you had no idea what this night would really entail and you wanted to be ready for anything.

How far did you want this date to go? You were lying to yourself if you said you didn't want to sleep with him. Anyone could call bullshit on that. But, if given the chance, _would_ you sleep with him tonight? You never really considered yourself to be that kind of girl, whatever than meant in this day and age. It wasn't that you were against it, but you always preferred getting to know someone a bit before jumping into bed with them.

But then again, this was going to be your third time seeing him _this week alone_. And there was no denying that you were attracted to him and he knew it. He seemed to be attracted to you as well, so if you were both consenting adults, then what did it matter? What you did know was that if anything did happen tonight, no one at work could know about it tomorrow, no matter how hard Ashley pressed for details.

As it was very firmly the middle of summer, you decided to wear a playful short black dress for the night. It had a straight neckline, the front wearing more like a halter that was cut very close to the sides of your torso, and the back was completely open. Two thin straps moved back over the shoulders and crossed delicately across your shoulder blades, meeting the skirt at your waist. The skirt flowed out over your hips, hitting a few inches above your knees, with more than enough fabric to twirl. You finished the look with a stylish silver metal belt and black pumps, tall enough that you might actually be able to look him in the eye. You thought it best to keep the rest simple; adding in some loose face-framing waves to your hair and making sure that your makeup complimented your eyes.

With a sigh, you stood in your mirror. Hours of work came down to this. You couldn't remember the last time you put this much effort into a… first? Date? Maybe never? This level of effort was usually reserved for weddings or other occasions of the sort. To be fair though, you never had a first date at the Signature Room. With Steve Rogers.

The Uber let you out right at the base of the Hancock Tower and you wove your way between tourists and pedestrians, bypassing the queue at the Cheesecake Factory and stepping into the elevator for the restaurant. Going up the 95 floors in record time, your ears popping along the way, the heavy doors opened to reveal a host desk. Tentatively, you stepped out, quickly glancing around only to notice a severe lack of other people.

"Hello, miss. Welcome to the Signature Room at the 95th," the pretty hostess welcomed.

"Thank you. I'm meeting someone… I think there's a reservation under Rogers, maybe?" you asked, a little unsure if you were supposed to come up on your own. You never did discuss where the two of you should meet, and you were a little early, so he might not have been there yet. Was the restaurant even open? No one else was there.

"Yes, Mr. Rogers has been expecting you," she informed, stepping out from behind the desk and motioning for you to follow her. The sun was just starting to glow orange and pink in the sky, the summer dusk laying a thick blanket over the top of the city. The windows here opened up to the south view, the soft brimming lights of Michigan Ave to the right and the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier to your left. And tucked nicely into an intimate corner table was Steve.

His hair was shorter, the soft long trendles being replaced with a shorter, spikier, more trendy style. It suited him, made him look sexy and modern. He stood from the table as he watched you approach, his blue eyes surveying you up and down as his tongue softly swiped against his bottom lip. He opted for a dark navy suit, gray shirt, and black tie, the colors setting off his eyes perfectly.

"Well hello, beautiful," he started, his hand reaching out to take your own. You graciously accepted it and he gave you a gentle twirl, his eyes taking you in from every angle.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers," you replied in that same dark voice you put on yesterday. He physically put his hand over his heart at the sound of your voice and you couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from within you. Why did he always make you feel like a little schoolgirl? Maybe because you definitely weren't used to this kind of attention from anyone, much less the lavish lifestyle he enjoyed bestowing upon you.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," he gushed, not letting go of your hand, "You're stunning."

The blush rose up into your cheeks at his compliment. "You aren't too bad yourself. I like the haircut," and you softly moved your fingers on your free hand through his hair. He let a shy smile across his lips as he handed you a glass of champagne. Accepting it kindly, you turned to look out across the view.

There were some things that you were determined to never get used to. Cold and snow was one of them because as soon as you did, that meant that you accepted that the winters were hellish and yet, you wouldn't move. But, you wouldn't move because of the second thing you wouldn't ever get used to: the magic of the Mag Mile.

"I'll never get over this city. When I was little, we used to come downtown and I would always be in awe of the architecture. The Sears Tower was the tallest building in the world when I was growing up and there's no way you can't be excited to grow up in a city like that," you thought out loud, Steve joining you at the window, "My friends and I used to come down and go to the Virgin Megastore and spend hours thumbing through racks of CDs, or go over to right there," and you pointed at a corner store that was only about a block away, "That used to be a Borders bookstore. I bought so many import music magazines from the UK there. But even though I've grown up here, I've never seen it from on high like this."

Your eyes got torn away from the lights moments before Steve's lips were on your own, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you to him. You could barely process what was happening for a few seconds before your body melded to his, his hard chest still feeling like heaven against your soft curves even through all the layers of fabric. His pillowy lips moved against yours and you couldn't help the sigh that rose from deep within you, your head spinning. He tasted like the champagne with a hint of scotch, his deep musk and sandalwood scent perfectly ensnaring your senses. If you had known days ago that a kiss like this was coming in your future, there's no way you would have waited for him to make a move.

"I'm sorry, I completely interrupted you. That was rude of me," and the relatively cool air came between the two of you, sending a shiver down your spine. He pulled away, instead leading you back to the table, pulling out the chair for you like he was a perfect gentleman and not a rich playboy who snogged girls instead of listening to them.

"Please, I was rambling," you murmured, your nerves crying out for his touch again. Your question from earlier popped back into your brain: if given the chance, would you sleep with him tonight? The answer was a resounding _fuck yes_.

"It would have been a shame to let that moment go to waste, don't you think?" he asked, the waiter handing the both of you menus without the slightest interruption.

"I completely agree. We shouldn't let any moments go to waste," you heard fall out of your own mouth and you couldn't help but wonder who the fuck you were. One kiss and he had you eating out of the palm of his hand. Taking a long sip of champagne you regained your wits. "Steve, why isn't there anyone else here?"

"I wasn't sure what view you would want," he answered simply without looking up from his menu, "That steak with the béarnaise sauce sounds perfect… What are you thinking?"

You were thinking a lot of things now that your brain was half functioning again. Why couldn't anything just be normal with him? You would have been perfectly content at a pub and maybe a walk around the park, something simple and down to earth. Instead, you were in the clouds, literally. And because you wouldn't let him pay ten times the price per plate for a meal, he closed down the entire restaurant.

"I'm thinking that any view would have been fine so you didn't need to reserve the whole floor. And the smaller steak with the garlic butter, please. Medium rare," and you handed your menu to the waiter.

"I didn't reserve the whole floor," he retorted, leaning forward, elbows on the table and narrowing his eyes at you but still giving you an amused smile.

"Oh really? Then why is no one else here?"

"I only reserved half the restaurant. Everyone else is on the other side. I didn't think you would want a north view since you see that every day."

He had a point, the north view would have been boring, but still, there wasn't any need to clear out half the restaurant just for you. He needed to understand that you didn't want to date him for his money, so he didn't have to keep making these lavish gestures.

"Do you have any other issues with me before we go on to enjoy our evening?" and he sat back in his seat. However, he didn't let his voice harden. In fact, you thought that he might even have been amused by all of this fuss.

"Yes, actually," you started, the alcohol emboldening you, "Please don't call me when I'm at work. I was lucky that I wasn't on the floor, but normally I can't just answer my phone like I did."

"Ah, but you did answer, which means that you wanted to talk to me," he threw back.

"Whether or not I wanted to talk to you isn't the question. It's that you can't call me while I'm there. Texts are fine, I can check texts between appointments and be discreet about it, but I don't want to have to fight off the mountain of questions from my coworkers every time you call, so please, just stick to texting," you pleaded.

Steve nodded slightly in understanding but didn't press any further. That had gone better than you expected it to which only spurred your second thought. With a nervous hand, you pulled the long white envelope from your purse and pushed it across the table towards him. "And I don't want your money. $400 is too much."

His jaw clenched for a moment as he processed your words, choosing his own very carefully. "You know, not many people even try to tell me what I can and can't do anymore," he said, his voice hardening as he leaned forward, his eyes catching yours in the dimming light, "So I'm going to make this very clear for you and let you decide what you want to do. I paid for a job. You can either accept payment or you can get up from this table and leave, which would solve both your issues with me."

You could feel the blood drain from your face. You had expected some resistance to giving the money back, since he pushed you to take the tip, but not like this. The tone of his voice made goosebumps across your arms and shoulders and the look in his eyes managed to suck all the warmth from the air between the two of you. He wasn't fucking around. If you got up, you were walking out of his life.

Slowly, your shaking hand slid the envelope back towards you and you slipped it back into your purse. It was the only thing you could do, really. All of this was just beginning and you couldn't help but feel like there was something more underneath all the looks and flirting, and it would be a shame to let your pride get in the way of that. So, he paid you too much for fixing a wifi issue. You would make peace with that.

"Good girl," he murmured as your eyes met his again, the warmth coming back to his demeanor, "So, tell me about work and that girl that was watching us FaceTime. I could see her standing behind you and she seemed pretty blown away that we were coming here tonight."

You told him all about your retail tech support life, boring him with the details of Sudo commands and why people need to clean up their damn desktops, for sure. To his credit, he listened intently, at least acting like he was hanging on your every word. He laughed when you told him about the worst thing you found on anyone's phone (hentai tentacle porn in a teenage boy's photos) and grimaced at the worst thing you found in someone's computer (toss-up between a toenail in the fan causing the computer to overheat or a family of live cockroaches.) He wanted to know everything, and not just about work. The two of you swapped stories about who had it worse in high school (he won with his scrawny artist background, not that you could ever imagine him being scrawny) and he privileged you with tales of boot camp and his first few years in the military. He ordered wine when the champagne was done and made sure that it paired perfectly with your steaks, letting no detail go unnoticed. And just as the desserts were being taken away, he let slip:

"I can't wait for you to meet Bucky. He's going to love you."

Steve had explained that Bucky was his closest friend while he was in the Army and they maintained that friendship even after Bucky got out. Finally, the walls started to seem like they were showing cracks and Steve was letting you in, if even just a little bit. Not to mention, he wanted to see you again, if at least to meet this friend, Bucky Barnes.

Your head was buzzing in the best way possible. After the initial hiccup with trying to return the payment, the rest of the date was simply wonderful. The intimacy from having the entire south view all to yourselves more than made up for the initial weirdness of it all and you made a firm decision in your mind to let yourself lean into everything Steve wanted to do for you. After all, it wasn't every day that simple connectivity issues led to nights on top of the city.

"It's getting late…" you murmured, finishing off your…. 4th… glass as the two of you stood, looking out over the lake, "You see those tiny twinkling lights way out there in the distance?"

Steve squinted at where your finger was pointing, "Maybe? But it also might just be too much good wine," he laughed.

"No, they're there, I swear," you declared, "Those lights are Indiana. And if you go to the casino that's there and stand out on the balcony on a clear day, you can look back and see Chicago."

"You don't say…" he amused you.

"I do say. I've done it," you assured and he laughed at your confidence.

"I think your first declaration was a little more factual. It is starting to get quite late and I think a few decisions need to be made."

Your eyes fell from his and you sighed deeply. God, you were dreading this part since the moment you decided you were going to jump his bones. Your apartment was an absolute mess, like to a terribly embarrassing degree, so there was no way you would let him up there. But if you went all the way home with him, there was no way you were going to make it to work on time tomorrow. He used a soft finger to tilt your head to his own again before you had a chance to really protest.

"I will never make it to work on time if I come all the way back to Skokie with you," you said between his sugar-sweet kisses, hoping he would have a good alternative. Like a hotel room. Or the back seat of the BMW, without Thomas preferably, but that wasn't a deal-breaker.

"Good thing I don't live in Skokie," he murmured against your lips, clearly amused.

"Then wherever you live, it's too far out of the city on a work night…"

"Babe," he started, slipping his arms around your waist, "Tonight isn't the night for that. It's okay. What I want you to decide is if you wouldn't mind accompanying me to a work event this Friday evening," and he placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the contact, your heart and body screaming yes to his invitation, but your head knowing that you wouldn't be able to make it, yet again, "I have work…"

He sighed softly, obviously trying to control his frustration of you needing to earn a paycheck. "Until what time?"

"I'm 9:30-6:30 on Friday."

"That's perfect. I will see you at 6:45 then."

"No, Steve, I work until 6:30. Then I'll need to go home and clean up, change clothes at the bare minimum to look presentable…"

"Don't worry about that. All you need to do is walk across the bridge and go to the lobby of the London House hotel at 6:45 on Friday," he instructed, his voice having a tone that he wasn't in the mood to argue any further about this. Lean in you reminded yourself, let him do what he wanted to do for you. There was no harm in seeing him after work. You softly nodded into the crook of his neck as he held you, feeling like you were on top of the world in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5 - This Ain't A Scene

A/N: Reviews make my wrist heal faster. Thanks for reading!

It was amazing how slowly the days could go by when you had something to look forward to. Work the day after the date was a nightmare. Shitty customers, one even yelling at you about them not having a backup, and not to mention Ashley trying her hardest to nail you to the wall and get every detail out of you.

"What did you wear? What did he wear?"

"I wore a dress. He wore a suit."

"What did you talk about?"

"Casinos and oil refineries in Indiana."

"Did he kiss you?"

"Next question."

"Are you going to see him again? Please tell me you're seeing him again…"

"I don't know, maybe," you answered vaguely, setting your iPad in the charging cradle. Ashley had recruited Karen to her mission, the two of them setting you on edge. They were relentless with their questioning, even though you had barely given answers to anything else they asked.

"You don't know? What do you mean you don't know? Hasn't he texted?"

"No."

"He hasn't texted you yet?

"Does it fucking matter?" you dropped and walked away. Yes, it was rude, and yes, you would probably hear shit about it from your coworkers, but right now you just did not have the patience for them.

"Did you set up that erase and install?" Karen called after you

"Yes," you called back.

Truth was, your phone and watch hadn't stopped buzzing for most of the day. He wanted to let you know that he had the most amazing time last night and was clearly excited about tomorrow. He asked your shoe size, if you had any food allergies, what kind of alcohol you preferred. He instructed that you should talk to reception when you get there, asking for Mr. Rogers. Honestly, it made you a little nervous. This was supposed to just be a work thing, a thing that he didn't seem too concerned about you looking your best. At least, if he did, he would have let you go home first.

That was why you threw a nice top and some makeup into your bag before work on Friday. That was why you wore your not safe for work jeans to work. That was why you made sure your hair behaved a bit and stashed a brush to quickly tame it. You barely ate your lunch you were so nervous about it all. And when you were on Check-In, you couldn't help but let your eyes wander out the front and across the river, trying so hard to imagine what could possibly be going on at the London House Hotel that evening.

So when the clock turned 6:30, you practically slammed the easypay into the holder and marched out the door. It was a gorgeous day, not a cloud in the sky, a gentle breeze off the lake and the sun still high. You wove your way through the tourists on the bridge (so many middle fingers towards a certain building) and jogged to make the walk light as your crossed Wacker drive. Pulling a hand through you hair, you took a breath as you stepped into the lobby.

The light gray slate floor was arranged in a herringbone pattern, save for a black marble path with silver art deco patterns inlaid. The black path ended with a silver mirrored desk, set off by the dark gray walls and an ornate chandelier. The same art deco patterns continued on the wall behind the receptionist. There were large, cushy chairs scattered around, leading off to a bar area that allowed patrons to people watch the street outside. You pulled a little on the hem of your work shirt, shouldering your bag once again, and approached the desk.

"Hello, I'm here for Mr. Rogers," you asked, feeling like you were in some illicit affair, meeting him at a hotel like this.

"Ah, yes, you must be his guest. We've been expecting you." the receptionist lightly confirmed, "If you wouldn't mind following me…" and she moved from behind the desk, leading you down a hallway, past the bank of elevators, and through a set of double glass doors to another mirrored desk. The lights were dim and the dark gray walls were set off with rich black beams. Before you could even get a look around, the two women at this desk were pulling you in.

"Whaaat is going on?" you asked no one in particular as the women handed a stack of clothes that looked to be a robe.

"Please, you can change in this room and leave your clothes and bag in there. We'll bring them up to your room," one instructed. She had a soft voice that matched the vibe of the room but somehow, her demeanor didn't make you calmer. Hesitating, you stepped into the private changing room and closed the door.

Immediately you pulled your phone from your pocket, typing out a furious message:

"I'm here and the lady led me to the spa, I think? Where are you?"

You had thought that this was going to be a casual thing. You had thought that this was maybe date number two, drinks after work like people who owned their own business did. Instead, you were now being told to put on a seamless thong and robe.

"So glad you made it. They know what to do so just sit back and relax. I'm taking care of a few finishing touches. I'll be down as soon as I can." Steve texted back and you chewed on your lip a little. Sit back and relax? They know what to do? Well, at least everyone else knew what the fuck to do with you because you sure as hell didn't.

"What the fuck?" was all you managed to type back before there came a knock on the door.

"Are you decent?" the soft voice asked. You finished undressing and pulled the thick, plush robe on, slipping your phone in the pocket. Neatly folding your clothes, you opened the door and sighed.

"I've been told you know what to do?" you stated, trying to remember what you told yourself two nights before: lean in. Samantha, as her nametag read, gave you an excited grin.

Nail polish. Face mask. Heat protect oil. All while in a massage chair. Steve had directed them to get you ready to meet and mingle with his work colleagues and that entailed the works. Samantha had started on your hair, sectioning it off and using large rollers to give it some volume. The other girl, Anya, had applied some sort of tingly mud mask to your face to dry while she started on your mani-pedi. And of course, all done with a glass of champagne. Honestly, it felt a little cheap that you had just done a lot of this to yourself not two nights before, and you managed to look just fine.

"Hello beautiful," Steve's baritone washed over the room, the silk of his voice matching the relaxing energy.

You cracked open one eye to try to get a look at him. He had yet to change, looking his most casual yet with dark wash jeans and a fitted navy t-shirt that looked to be just a tad too small for his frame, not that you were complaining about his bulging biceps. "I have mud on my face."

"Big disgrace."

"Kicking my can all over the place," you finished with a grin that was might have cracked the dried mask.

"Even with the mud, you're still beautiful. Especially now that I know you can quote Queen," he bemused as he took a seat in a chair across from you. You rolled your eyes but still allowed the compliment to wash over you. "Everything going alright down here?"

"Yes, everything is perfect. Still don't really understand why all of this is happening but…" and you let your words trail off.

Steve took a deep breath in, getting more comfortable in his seat and crossing his arms as he breathed out, "Yeah, I thought you might have some questions."

He looked at you expectantly and for the first time since the two of you had met, you felt like he might actually want to let you in entirely. "What is going on, Steve?"

The man sat there in front of you, looking as if he knew exactly what you were going to ask but still having no idea how to answer it. You didn't mean for it to be such a heavy-handed question. You had a feeling that just by asking, it was going to unravel the carefully cultivated and crafted image Steve had been presenting to you. Did you even want to know at this point? Did it really matter?

"To answer that question there's a lot of things that you need to understand about me and what it is that I do," He started. He glanced towards Samantha and Anya and both of them stopped their work, leaving the two of you alone. You could feel your heart beating harder in your chest and the anxious part of your brain was screaming at you to just say that you didn't care anymore. But there was something deep down inside of you that itched to know.

"What you do is legal, right? Like I'm not going to get in trouble just for having known you."

Steve let out of breathy laugh at that which helped ease the tension inside of your chest, "Yes, what I do is perfectly legal and no, you're not going to get in any trouble. I… deal in military contracts… specifically provisions and procurement of weapons and munitions," and he let his words hang in the air between the two of you.

"Oh," was all you could really get out. Individually, you understood the words he was saying but putting it all together made you not so sure.

"I'm an arms dealer." He said bluntly, "The US government pays me to find the weapons they need for whatever reasons they need them. My company acts as a sort of middleman, a clearinghouse. Mr. Stark's company is one of many who actually develop and make them, but there are reasons why the government won't deal with them directly. I do."

It was kind of a lot to take in. Never in your entire existence would you have ever pinned the generous and attentive man before you for a weapons expert. You weren't really one for guns or war; too dangerous in an already damaged world. But then again, Steve had been forthcoming with his military past with you. He lived in that world before, knew how to handle those sorts of things. It only made sense that he made a business of it.

"So, these people that are here tonight…" you started, the puzzle in your brain putting all the pieces together, "Are they in your business too?

"Most of them, yes. These types of events, this is where deals start and things get done. Tonight is my turn to host one in my new hometown, of course," he said with a slight grin. You tried to mirror his expression back, still not fully understanding your place in his world.

The grin dropped from his face as he clenched his jaw, leaning forward in his seat and tenting his fingers between his knees. You could tell that this was not easy for him to reveal to you, and you had to admit you weren't making it any easier. "And along those lines, I have a proposition for you." He breathed, his eyes flicking up to meet your own finally.

"A… proposition," you murmured, letting the word roll around your mouth for a moment. You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man sitting in front of you was a bona fide arms dealer, let alone him having a proposition for you.

"Having a girlfriend in my line of work is a major hazard. Things can get very messy very quickly and very dangerous for anyone else who may be involved with me." And his eyes returned to the floor like he was ashamed to be breaking your heart while you were at a spa on his dime. You swallowed hard, your stomach dropping as you waited for the inevitable. Why even bring you here, get you excited, treat you to a taste of a life that you've never had, if it wasn't going to amount to anything? It was a tease, all of this.

He took a deep breath and forced his eyes back to your own, "But the fact of the matter is that I like you. I like spending time with you. We have amazing conversations, you make me laugh and smile, and you're hands-down one of the smartest people I've ever met. I find myself thinking about you all the time and I can't let myself let you go."

To hear him actually say it melted you a bit and your heart swelled for him. All your fears and anxieties over the past week fell away. You weren't imagining everything, reading too deeply into all his actions and to know that he felt the same way you did killed all doubts. "I think you know that I like you too, so what's the matter, Steve?" you couldn't help but let fall from your lips.

He let that shy smile crawl across his lips but this time it was tinged with a little bit of sadness. You longed to reach out to him to let your fingers play across his cheeks and to comfort him, let him know that everything was going to be alright.

"That's where your part in all of this comes in. At these types of events like tonight, _companions _are expected," and he emphasized companions, "You don't have to make a decision right away, take tonight see how you enjoy it before you give me an answer." And just as quickly, his words started to deflate your swelling heart. Companions? Like Inara from Firefly companion? Was there an expectation that just because he paid someone to put mud on your face you were to sleep with whomever he told you to?

"I'm not a prostitute, Steve," you said indignantly and he interrupted you right away.

"No of course not, that's not what I'm asking. I'm asking you to be my guest, my date if you will, to events like these. Business events, where a certain lifestyle is expected. I'm willing to pay you handsomely for each event to attend with me. I would expect you to be polite and smart and courteous and to show my business partners the same level of conversation as you've shown me. Physically, we don't have to go any further than we've already gone. And any time you and I spend together privately is just that, our private time to enjoy one another's company."

"Meaning you wouldn't pay me to ditch work and come over, right?" You stated, your voice having a bite to it that took you by surprise.

"Meaning exactly that. You didn't want to be paid to hang around me anyway, remember?" He bit back.

You sat back in your chair, not even realizing that you had been leaning forward more and more as he talked. You were torn almost completely 50-50. This was dangerous territory, one that you never thought you'd ever find yourself in. The logical part of your brain was screaming for you to say no, that this was a slippery slope into a world you didn't want to be a part of. But there was another part of you that was dying to say yes, to break free of the monotony that your life had become. Going to work, coming home, rinse and repeat every day was starting to wear thin on you. Steve's presence in your life had certainly made things much more enjoyable these last few days and you hated to have to give that up.

"What happens if I say yes?" you asked, your voice tentative.

"Well, I'm not quite sure." he started, pulling a hand through his hair, "This is new territory for me too. In addition to your... stipend, as I suppose we should call it, any gifts related to these events would also be paid for and yours to keep. All travel expenses would be paid for, of course, and from there, anything else that may come up would be up for discussion as it arises."

"Travel expenses? I wouldn't be able to be gone very long. I'm not quitting my job for this," you stated.

"Like I said, up for discussion."

"And what if I say no?"

It was painful to even consider it, but you were never one to put your life on hold for a man, even him. And with that Steve took a deep breath, sitting back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours but his jaw clenching once again as he sized you up, his voice soft, "Then you enjoy tonight and tomorrow... we say goodbye."

The silence hung in the air as you both considered each other. Arms dealer was right. His words were like weapons, bullets going right through you. You certainly didn't want to say goodbye to him, that was for sure. You weren't ready to go back to finding porn on people's phones with nothing to look forward to. Were you replaceable to him? Would he find some other girl next week? Was he replaceable to you?

"But like I said, take tonight to enjoy yourself and make a decision. I won't accept an answer until tomorrow morning anyway." He finished, his tone lighter and he stood from his chair, signaling for the girls to come back to their work, "I need to go up and get ready myself. I have a dress and shoes waiting for you in our room whenever you're ready," and he leaned down, kissing you so sweetly that you almost forgot he wasn't your boyfriend.

It was manipulative at best, downright cruel at worst. His kisses were like a drug for you, making your brain go fuzzy when, right now, you needed to have the clearest head you possibly could. You turned the keycard he gave you over in your hands, the dichotomy of it all not being lost on you. Would you take this chance to be with him, or turn away for what you've always known?

Samantha set your hair into an elegant knot that sat low, softening the look with a few loose face-framing strands. Anya was an artist with your makeup, a sultry, smokey look setting off your eyes. Your nails were cleaned up and painted a soft pinky nude, not a color you would usually choose but it worked with the rest of the look. They whisked you up the elevator to what had to be near the top floor, down to the end of the hall, the Vista Suite.

Fishing the keycard from the pocket of your robe, you entered the room, your heart pounding. Part of you was hoping he was there, but another part of you was relieved to find that he wasn't. The doorway opened to a short hallway with a door off to your left that led to the bathroom, which was closed and locked. The hallway opened up to a small living space, a gray velvet loveseat sat opposite a large wall-mounted television, a cozy black coffee table between them. As you gazed around, you realized the wall the tv was mounted on was actually a two-way fireplace, the other side having a small breakfast area. The wall opposite you was little more than a glass partition, separating the bedroom from the rest of the suite, a massive California king bed draped in crisp white linens giving way to a wall of windows that you dare not look out of. The London House was famous for its views, but you knew that the roof was the best view of them all, and you were willing to wait for what you wanted.

Something caught your eye, a satin wrapped hanger was hooked to the outside of the closet door. Hung with the utmost care was an exquisite dress, the one you supposed he chose for you. It was a gorgeous turquoise blue with some delicate silver threading throughout it, giving it an almost liquid look. It looked to be about knee length, with a flattering gather over you right hip, long, tight sleeves, and the deepest V neckline that made you just a bit nervous.

"Balmain. Of course," you read the tag. The dress better be gorgeous. It cost at least $1,500. It didn't matter though, it perfectly matched the clear pumps with an ombré wash of crystals coming up from the toes. Red bottoms. Louboutins. You had to hand it to him, the man knew how to put together an outfit.

You quickly got dressed, the skirt of the dress having a high cut up your right thigh that you hadn't noticed. It hugged every curve, the neckline having a way of making your cleavage look amazing. If Steve was trying to keep you hidden, it wouldn't work. You subtly sparkled, quite literally from neck to toe, every movement you made catching the light. You couldn't help doing a small twirl in the mirror, hardly believing that this was you.

"Let me help you with that," Steve softly murmured, watching you from near the fireplace. He had changed into a three-piece charcoal gray suit that had a subtle tartan pattern throughout it. He paired it with a royal blue tie, freshly shined black shoes, and a crisp white shirt. His hair was spiked and styled just so and the way he casually adjusted his cufflinks at his wrists made him look as smooth and suave as he really was. His sudden intrusion into your Cinderella moment caught you off guard and you couldn't help the blush that rose up to your cheeks. You didn't want to admit that playing dress-up was fun, but that was exactly what it was: dress up. A fantasy.

He slowly approached you from behind, gently turning you back towards the mirror. You could feel his soft breath tickle the back of your neck, a firm hand at the small of your back as he zipped the dress for you. You couldn't help but let your eyes flutter shut, his mere physical presence being enough to start your heart beating out a samba in your chest.

"Wait. Keep your eyes closed. I have a surprise for you," he insisted, the dark tone of his voice being so close, giving you goosebumps and you felt the cool air hit the back of your legs as he moved around you.

"I don't know, Steve," you said, turning your head towards him, "I've only been here an hour and a half and there's already been too many surprises for my liking…"

He didn't respond to you, and instead, you could feel him step behind you once again. A small cool weight fell against the top of your chest, making your eyes snap open, catching him as he set the clasp.

His hands lingered gently on your shoulders as you fingered the delicate stone. Pear cut aquamarine surrounded by a double halo of… "Diamonds?"

Steve nodded, "Diamonds and aquamarine set in platinum. There are stud earrings to match in the other box." You opened your mouth to protest but he raised a hand in the mirror to stop you, "No matter what you decide, I want you to have them, as my gift to you. Even if you decide you don't want this in your life, this week with you has been nothing short of magical."

The warm feeling rose into your chest again, spreading out to every corner of your body and forcing your lips into a shy smile. Your eyes met his own in the mirror and you allowed yourself to lean back into him as his arms snaked around your waist.

"Thank you, Steve. I love it," you turned your head and whispered against his lips, bringing a hand up to tangle in his hair. A soft groan escaped from his throat, his mouth on yours as he held you tighter. His tongue begged for entry and you so desperately wanted to give that to him… but any longer and the beautiful makeup that he paid for would be ruined.

"Your friends are waiting…" you sighed against his lips.

"They can wait a little longer. I'm enjoying kissing you too much," and he turned you to him, his hands gripping tight to the fabric at your hips. Fuck it. Lipstick could be reapplied right? You gripped the lapel of his jacket as his tongue fought with your own, his musk and the lack of oxygen making your head spin. It was going to be nearly impossible to walk away from this, from him, and he knew it. It was never his intention to make this decision easy for you. But still, even though your heart was beating out of your chest, your brain was firmly planted in reality. You needed to take a taste of the poison before drinking from his cup.

His arm slid down the length of your own and he wove his fingers with yours, the sparks practically jumping between your fingertips. A quick check in the mirror (and a lipstick reapplication) and he was whisking you into an elevator up to the roof. You gripped his hand a little tighter, the butterflies in your stomach turning to nerves. You were about to come face to face with some exceptionally powerful people and yet, who the fuck were you?

"You'll be great, don't worry. I'll be with you," Steve leaned over and whispered in your ear, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek just before the doors opened.

The nerves fell away as the river revealed itself, the warm dusk air washing over you. Oh yeah, this was who you were. This was your city, your skyline, and they were all just playing in your backyard. Taking a few steps out, you could see your store, a cool inner glow from 22 stories down. People were still there, it was still open, little pixels running along their own paths from this high up. Ashley was the closing admin tonight. She had no idea where it was you were or if you had even talked to Steve that day. You couldn't help but wonder what she would do if this has been her, or Karen, who had talked to him first?

They wouldn't have made it this far. You knew that in your gut, an undeniable truth. While Karen could conduct herself with more class and maybe would have been invited to his house, both of them were too young, too eager, too thirsty to have ever gotten this far. You couldn't help but let your fingertips run over the warm gemstones, a comforting weight against your skin. Peering down at that part of your life, you decided to put it firmly out of your mind for tonight. Your head needed to be above it right now.

Turning away, you took in your surroundings. The 22nd floor was the rooftop deck, fitted with comfortable chairs and tables in dark, rich wood, matching the same lush atmosphere the rest of the hotel gave off. There was a wooden bar next to where you stepped out, covered by a vine and fairy light pergola, fully stocked, of course. Light big band and classic crooners music filled every corner up here, definitely giving the vibe of post-war coolness. The floor below was also a bar, more like a jazz club with live music every night. And to your left were stairs leading up to the 23rd floor, the stone rotunda gazebo, facing the lake. The lights from the surrounding buildings popped on around this little slice of heaven as the sun set low over the fork in the river, the Navy Pier lights peeking out over the horizon. There were still bits of magic left in life if you just stopped long enough to let it happen. How very Ferris Bueller of you.

Steve had gone off to greet his guests so you resigned yourself to getting a drink at the bar. You were going to need a little bit of liquid courage. "Whiskey, please, with a splash of ginger ale if you have it."

A man at the end of the bar lifted his head at your order and you watched him out of the corner of your eye as you waited. He was too well dressed to not be part of this soirée, going with a deep black suit, shirt, and tie. His dark hair was longer, falling gently to the side, enough for a lady to run her fingers through and sweep away from his face. Glancing your way again, he held a cocktail cheery between his teeth, lips teased up in a curious grin. A few strands of hair fell to the side and he ran a hand through them, giving his baby blue eyes a chance to shine. You couldn't help but swallow hard and looked away quickly. Just from his look, you could tell that this man was dangerous.

"Whiskey, huh? A beautiful girl like you deserves something smoother, easier to drink," he commented, tugging the stem off the cherry, but not before tying it in a knot first.

Quietly thanking the bartender, you gently swirled the glass of amber liquid. His eyes scanned you up and down, much in the same way that Steve had, but his gaze only made you want to prove him wrong. Tipping your head back, you let the sharp taste burn down your open throat, draining the glass. The man turned towards you, his bottom lip teasing between his teeth as he watched you eagerly. You met his eye as you set down the glass, his lips twitching back into a smirk.

"Even some of us beautiful girls know how to handle our liquor," you retorted. The stranger let out a low whistle while turning his body towards you, taking a step forward. The move only seemed to impress him and you had to admit, his gratification gave you a little thrill.

"We will have to test that theory," he responded, "But for now, I need to know how a girl like you ended up in a place like this."

"I'm here as Ste- as Mr. Rogers'... guest," you answered, feeling the need to be as formal and as vague as you possibly could. The man's eyes shone at your admission, he clearly knowing something but not yet giving himself up.

"Ah, then we need to do a toast!" and he flagged down the bartender, ordering two glasses of something called țuică for you, "There's only one way to welcome the new girl into this boys club."

"Boy's club? You mean there aren't many women forming military contracts?" you retorted as you watched the bartender pour shot glass sized drinks. The alcohol was clear, almost like vodka, but you had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't going to go down as nicely.

"Ah, so Stevie has told you what he does," the man replied, handing you one of the glasses, "Unlike your whiskey display, you sip this. And there are women, Natasha is very successful. But she, ah, generally doesn't come to the states."

He raised his glass towards you and you mirrored his gesture. If you hadn't watched the bartender pour the drinks you wouldn't have accepted it; a stranger trying to get you to drink alcohol you never heard of. As he tipped his head, you took a small sip, squeezing your eyes shut in the process. The alcohol wasn't bad, it didn't sting or make your eyes water, but you could feel the burn start as soon as it hit your nearly empty stomach. "What is this?"

"Tuică. Traditional Romanian plum brandy usually served as a toast before a good meal," he explained as you took another sip.

"And how did you discover this?"

"Well, when you live in Romania, the local customs do tend to rub off…"

You raised your eyebrows as you finished your drink, very aware that you were already two drinks in. Either you would need to slow way down or get some food in you, fast. "Romania, wow. And is this your first time in this wonderful city?" You asked, an evil plan forming in your slightly fuzzy brain.

"I do have to admit that yes, this is my first time here. And so far the view is not bad at all," and his eyes sparkled again, not being shy about letting them rake along your curves. You couldn't help but let a shy smile crawl across your lips, enjoying the extra bit of attention. Now that he had invaded your space, you could see how his square-cut jaw was speckled with a few hours old stubble. His hair fell gently in his eyes and before you even thought about it, your fingers were sweeping it back for him. His eyes met yours as he let you and it felt like the smallest of sparks had been lit inside of you. Shit.

"There you are!" Steve's voice washed over you and you snapped your hand back, the blush blooming in your cheeks, "And you've found Bucky! What have the two of you been talking about?" and he came up behind the other man, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Bucky flashed you a knowing glance before answering, "Your lovely date was just welcoming me to the city."

"And there's only one way to welcome newcomers to the city," you started, gaining your composure and flagging the bartender down for a final time, "Three Chicago Handshakes, please."

Even the bartender made a face but you couldn't help the smile and excitement. The two men looked at each other nervously as the shots were poured, the beers uncapped, and each set placed in front of each of you. Immediately you regretted ordering one for yourself, but Bucky had essentially challenged you to a drinking contest and there was no backing out of it now. You needed to drown that spark in alcohol.

"What the hell is a Chicago Handshake?" Steve asked, eyeing the shot of booze suspiciously.

"Nope, you don't get to-" you started but the bartender interrupted.

"A shot of malort chased with a cheap beer, preferably Old Style." Both of them made a face at the choice of beer and you could hear Bucky mutter "the hell is malort?" under his breath. It didn't matter though. You had done his mystery shot, now he had to do yours.

Gracefully, you raised your shot glass, silently insisting they do the same. The two of them took to their glasses, Steve looking amused at Bucky's nervousness.

"To my new home," Steve offered in a toast and you nodded, watching as the men threw back the shot. You knew what they were in for and placed yours on the bar, refusing to put yourself through that pain again. An amused sparkle hit your eye at their faces, the bitter taste forcing both of them to scrunch in disgust.

Bucky immediately grasped for his beer, trying his best to wash away the offending liquor. "What the fuck was that? Gasoline?"

"No, that was death, and now you want me to follow it with piss-water," Steve coughed and you couldn't help but giggle behind your own bottle of beer. He shook his head out as the bartender gave him a proper beer, cleaning up the aftermath of the welcome party.

"You guys actually drink that shit?" Bucky said, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

"No. Well, some people do, but once you've been baptized by a Chicago Handshake, you can handle any other drinks," you retorted with a sly smile and even Steve had to laugh at that, watching his friend so shaken.

Bucky looked up at you, a toothy grin on his face, and he pointed at you, "I like this one, Stevie. I like her a lot." It gave you an enormous amount of satisfaction to know that Bucky approved of you. You couldn't help the genuine smile that crossed your lips.

"Me too, Buck. Me too," Steve affirmed with a heavy clap to the other man's shoulder, "But I do need to steal her away before you get her into trouble."

Bucky swept his hair back from his face, letting his blue eyes shine again as he regained his composure and you couldn't help but let your bottom lip slip between your teeth. "Enjoy your night with Stevie and hopefully our paths will meet again," and he took your hand in his own, more calloused but surprisingly gentle, placing a light kiss on top. Bucky was a trip, that was for sure. He was less tightly wound than Steve, a little more down and dirty. A big part of you was relieved Steve had rescued you from him because you knew that Bucky Barnes could be bad news all around.

Steve let his palm settle into the small of your back, leading you away before linking arms once again. The thick blanket of the night finally settled along the river and the city was lit like stars reaching to get back to the heavens. Your head was a little fuzzy from the two strong drinks right in a row, but even stone-cold sober there was no denying it, you were having a good time. You allowed your cheek to snuggle up to his shoulder and he turned his head, his smile beaming down at you. This felt right. This felt like the place you belonged.

He had led you across the crowded rooftop to an area under the gazebo where a finely dressed couple were deeply engrossed in a conversation. The man insisted on wearing tinted glasses (despite the lateness of the hour) and a more casual gray three-piece suit, the red tie setting of the women's red tulip skirted dress.

"Pepper, Tony," Steve welcomed, grasping the man's hand firmly and giving the woman a light and polite kiss on the cheek, "I wasn't sure if the two of you would be able to make it. I'm very glad to have you in my new hometown."

"Your hometown is showing off tonight," Pepper exclaimed, gesturing to the buildings surrounding the river.

"Yes yes, but we know that you can take the boy out of Brooklyn but you can't take the Brooklyn out of the boy," Tony quipped, gently poking fun at Steve.

He took it in kind, heartily laughing, "No, you can't."

"And please tell me you will be making your way back home for my small gathering of close, personal friends?" Tony asked.

"Oh please, your small gatherings are still nearly 100 people," Pepper retorted.

"100 of my close, personal friends," Tony continued, "And, please forgive me, but I don't think you're one of my personal friends, but apparently you are one of Mr. Rogers here."

Steve introduced you formally to Mr. Tony Stark and his fiance, Ms. Pepper Pots, CEO of Stark Industries. And what Tony had been referring to was his own weapons soiree that he was hosting in the coming weeks. In New York. Round two of this night, it seemed. Of course, you politely chit-chatted, Tony immediately regaling you with the story of Steve's first sale, and how he almost blew it from being so nervous.

"Just when it really couldn't have been going any worse, Rogers here knocks his glass of champagne all over the contracts and the cheque, ink bleeding all over everything and voiding it all."

"I swear, the lawyers looked like they were going to faint," Pepper added as you giggled along with them.

"Thank you for that, by the way. I always love seeing those suits squirm for their money," Tony finished.

Steve laughed kindly, doing his best to hide any embarrassment, "To my credit, it was my first contract, and to have my first be with the formidable Stark Industries…"

"It's kind of like losing your virginity to a porn star," Tony remarked and Pepper immediately smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

"Tony, we have a guest present…"

"Please, don't worry about me," you started.

"Or maybe hopping into the sack with this guy, that's got to be pretty formidable," and he gestured towards Steve who had a visible blush running to his cheeks. The bottom of your stomach fell out and your mouth fell open, although you weren't sure what to say.

"That's quite enough." Pepper insisted, "Why don't you and Steve go talk shop while us girls get to know each other better?" and she pushed through the two men, linking arms with you to pull you away.

Was it inappropriate what Tony had said? Yes. Did it bother you? A little. Mostly because he had no idea who you were, or who you were to Steve. You supposed it didn't really matter though, not to him at least. All that mattered to him was his world and maintaining that world. You were not a part of that world, so he didn't give a shit if it made you uncomfortable. But you couldn't help looking over your shoulder as you climbed the stairs up, meeting Steve's eyes over Tony's shoulder. You felt a twinge of sadness for him, getting embarrassed at his own party. Still, he gave you that same shy, crooked smile and for a moment you were back at Bar 4, running diagnostics on his computer and putting your number in his phone. Simpler times.

"I'm sorry for Tony's behavior. He's usually much better but sometimes when the super-secret boyband is back together, he doesn't know where the limit is," Pepper apologized.

"Thank you," you accepted, "I mean, he's not wrong but Steve and I…" You aren't what? Sure you'll even see each other after tonight? Sleeping together? You wished that wasn't true but Ms. Potts didn't need to know that. "Steve and I, it's complicated."

Pepper looked at you softly, not with pity, but with understanding. "I was Tony's personal assistant, you know. He frustrated the hell out of me until he didn't come back from a demonstration overseas. Then he scared me. It was then that I realized I needed him in my life. Despite all the fear, the nights when it felt like I was chasing his brain around his lab, I wanted to be with him.

"It took him a little bit to understand, and by that time I was running his company. I never did get him to stop, but now he needs me too." And she gazed down at her engagement ring, a stunning diamond set in silver.

You took in her words, shifting your eyes to the horizon, "So you think I should embrace the complicated?"

"I don't know, only you can decide if this is all too much. But I do know that Steve doesn't bring dates around very often," and you looked up at her, a slight grin across your lips, "You should know that nothing in life comes easy or straightforward. But it will be worth it."

With a soft shoulder squeeze, Pepper left you to your thoughts. She had a point and a very valid one at that. Nothing worth it in life came easy. There was a lot in your life that was easy at this point. You had a steady job. You mostly liked what you did. You had an okay apartment and could afford to live on your own. You had friends and family that cared about you. You were proud of all of that because you worked your ass off to get it. None of that stuff fell at your feet. So maybe hoping or even expecting Steve to just turn around and fall for you was naive. If you stayed, then maybe a future with him would make all this worth it. He said that he couldn't stop thinking of you. Made you feel incredible, full of excitement and confidence. He made you feel sexy and wanted, something that didn't happen enough in your life. Already he had given you more than you ever thought you could have.

But what were you gambling to have him? Your job, if it ever got out how you two really started you would be fired on the spot. There was no guarantee that his feelings for you would grow. Pepper did say he didn't bring girls around often… but he had brought others around. And where were they now? Not here, left behind in New York or some other city. How long until he got bored of you? How long until you found out that you were just his Chicago chick? How long until his investment wasn't worth the return? And then what? Could you live in this world? Playing dress-up was fun, and you were having a good time, but the fact that you were surrounded by people who got rich because of the suffering of others, however indirectly, was scratching in the back of your mind. Could you really play this part?

A cool breeze came off of the lake and chilled you through the fabric of the dress. This was one of those moments that ended up defining everything. Your head and your heart were waging war against each other in the most insidious of ways. You were too deep in now, you knew that, but he had offered a way out. Tomorrow was your way out.

Heavy wool enveloped your shoulders and Steve's familiar scent instantly shut your brain up. "I saw that shiver go through you," he commented lightly, wrapping his suit jacket over you to keep you warm. Gently, your fingers pulled it tight around you, wanting so badly to be enveloped by him fully. His warmth, his smell, his voice, it all felt so good to you. Like a balm on burned skin, his presence had a way of soothing your worried soul. Somehow, for some reason, you just trusted him.

Your eyes met his own as his fingertips lightly grazed yours, lacing them together, and softly he twisted your arm up as he brought the back of your hand to his lips. His eyes glittered in the lights around you but behind them, you could see the sadness he was trying to hide. A sadness that mirrored your own. "Let's… let's have tonight. The real world can wait until tomorrow," his baritone rumbled through you, igniting his own flame within your core.


	6. Chapter 6 - Lala

A/N: Please review! Thanks for reading!

The remainder of the night passed pleasantly, meeting more of Steve's colleagues and business partners, laughing at jokes and asking questions to learn more about them. You found most of the people in this world were kind, sane. They just wanted to have a good time and enjoy the generous view that Steve had afforded them.

He was on fire. He was as charming and lovely as ever, making sure you never felt lost or uncomfortable. There was a sense of pride that you had standing by him. He was in his element and the two of you were more than happy to stay up there until well past the last drinks had been poured.

So when he leaned over and gently whispered in your ear that he was ready to leave, you were more than happy to oblige. Despite the quality of the shoes, hours in them were starting to make your feet hurt and the lake-effect breeze had made the dress completely impractical. Your body was longing for your bed but even if Thomas drove you back, it was still going to be a good half hour until you were comfortable again.

The two of you rode the elevator down, his jacket still draped around your shoulders. With heavy eyes, you gazed over at him. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top button of his shirt undone, leaning against the back wall of the elevator with his eyes closed. You wanted to remember him this way. Not the shrewd businessman when he insisted you keep the money, or even the powerful host who worked hard to make sure his guests were having a good time. You wanted to remember him as Steve, the sweet guy who called you from his bed, definitely the one who got away.

As the doors opened to his floor, he snapped out of his reverie, giving you a small, embarrassed smile that you couldn't help to mirror back. He gently took your hand in his own, leading you back to his room and locking the door behind you. "There's pyjamas for you in the wardrobe, and I had them launder your work clothes," he said softly, tugging his tie loose.

You stood in the living room area, your feet screaming at you but your body unable to move until your tired brain finished processing. You should be calling an Uber, taking off the jewels and placing them neatly back in their little blue boxes. You should be slipping off the dress and slipping your jeans back on to make the journey home. You should be explaining to him that you had a lot of fun, but you had too much self respect to be just another side-chick. You should be telling him your fears, how you didn't know if you could fit into his world, or if you should even try. If nothing else, you should be thanking him for thinking so highly of you to want to include you in how other people lived, people who didn't have to worry about making the rent.

But instead, you changed into the black satin shorts and tank he had picked out, leaving your work clothes neatly folded in the wardrobe.

There was nothing quite like a summer Saturday morning in the Loop. The sun rose over the lake, reflecting off the lazy river waves, making an easy rainbow when the Centennial Fountain Water Arc rained down. The boats for the architecture tours were in full swing, tourists waving up to the people on the bridges, the bright blue cloudless sky welcoming everyone who cared to come see what the Windy City was really all about.

And yet, the pillow was impossibly soft, the down comforter cool against your warm skin. A leg was tangled with your own, a strong arm draped casually across your stomach. Your position in the bed afforded you a view of the NBC tower, fully glowing. It had be close to midday, you supposed. This was one of those moments when you needed time to stop. Soon, you would have to stir the man sleeping so peacefully loosely latched to you so you could find out the actual time. His work had finished the night before, yours was just starting. 12:30-9:30. And the whole time you knew you would be longing to be back in this world again.

Your view shifted to your right. The stubble of the day had grown on the cut of his jaw, his slept in hair still being perfectly messed up. His cheek was smashed to the pillow, lips pushed out and parted in soft breaths. It pained your heart how adorable he was in this moment. No guards, no defenses, no wall of money to hide behind. No, you really didn't want to get out of bed.

Softly, your fingertips lightly danced on the skin of his bicep, the muscle being rock solid even relaxed in his sleep. God, he was ridiculous. Even his back looked as though it was carved from marble. Each muscle moved with a soft breath, your fingers sliding smoothly over them, soothing them with your touch. Steve was a _man, _not like those boys you had been with before or even any of the guys at the store. No wonder the other girls were so thirsty. Steve was the first good thing to walk into your bar in a long time.

"Mmmmmm," he murmured, his fingers lightly grasping at nothingness, searching for something. Finally they found their goal, the smallest sliver of your exposed skin, just above your hip. They calmed along that strip, conforming to the curve of your waist, and he pulled you towards him slightly, burying his face into the pillow once again.

You had to admit, he had a way with knowing exactly what you really wanted. You wanted his fingers to explore further, to allow the daylight to glow upon your flesh. You were dying to stay in that bed and only get up to bring in the room service. You allowed your fingertips to trail up along his shoulder, following the line of his clavicle."Steve," you called softly, running circles around the soft hair on the back of his neck, "I need to get up."

He shook his head slightly, opening an impossibly blue eye to look at you, "Not yet."

"Huh. I never would have pegged you as not being a morning person," you mused to yourself as he pulled you to him fully. Through the thin silk of your pyjamas your body conformed to his toned torso, each valley of defined muscle doing its absolute best to make you forget your responsibilities.

"Well, I rarely have anything that's worth getting up for," he whispered against your lips, your eyes lightly fluttering shut, "But I have a feeling you could change that for me." You couldn't help it, he was irresistible, especially when he was feeding you exceptionally bullshit lines like that. You pressed your lips to his own, giving yourself over to the moment, and his grip on your waist tightened. God, you loved kissing him. It was never boring or routine, a constant and immediate high. His lips were impossibly soft for the morning, all the drinking not dehydrating him, and even his stubble felt good against your cheek. Your fingers dipped into the contours of his skin, mapping his neck, down his throat and chest, all the way down to his abs and locking it into your mind forever. They itched to play at the waistband of his gray sweatpants but you resisted. If you crossed that line you knew there would be no going back.

Suddenly, he rolled onto his back, his strong grip bringing you with, and he finally let you settle, straddled in his lap. You broke the kiss with the shock of moving and he let a small giggle bubble up from within him, "Sorry, I just thought this is more comfortable," and he sat up slightly to capture your lips again, his sugar sweetness making you sigh. Your body was absolutely screaming at you, the longing at your core making all rational thought just a bit fuzzy.

You need to clean yourself up before work.

But it's been so long…

It's not worth losing your job over.

Oh, but it would definitely be worth showing up late for…

It doesn't matter, you're not taking his proposition anyway. Don't let sex cloud your judgement.

But what if…

His hands moved down off your waist, cupping your ass and your couldn't help but let your hips slide over his own just for a moment. You wanted to keep kissing him so so so badly, and your let your lips trail down, needing to taste the skin of his pulse point. Arching your back into him, your breasts pushed against his chest, and he let out a low, almost primal growl. Fuck, he was such a turn on in the morning.

"Babe, not that I don't want to keep going, because fuck… do I want to keep going," he groaned, his hips moving instinctivly with yours, "But it's just past 11:30."

Your eyes flew open at the time, your head jerking up from nuzzling his neck, "Fuck," you whined, your body completely deflating. It wasn't fair. It was such a cruel tease of fate. You were straddled across his hips, finally getting to run your fingers over the peaks and valleys of his god-like body, and the damn clock was cock-blocking you.

"I know…" he commiserated, placing tiny kisses on the top of your head. You just wanted to lay on his chest like that forever. God, it was mean how your brain immediately imagined you like this, your body completely melded into his, your head fitting right under his chin, but without any fabric between your skin. Taking a breath of his deep scent, you sighed. "You know, you don't have to go…" he quietly suggested as his fingertips swirled circles onto your back.

The buzzing in your head seemed to calm down now that you had some proper oxygen going to your brain. "No, I should go," you said, somehow peeling yourself from his body, "It's a Saturday computer repair shift. The Holy Grail of shifts. No customers, no one telling you what to do. I would be stupid to call off."

You knew he didn't really understand how great of a shift this was because, after all, he was offering you a chance to not have to go in at all. But still, Steve sat up and dusted your lips with those sugar sweet kisses again. "Go, hop through a shower and I'll order a light brunch so you at least have some food in you."

You grinned against his lips, appreciative that he didn't give you too hard of a time, but you still jumped when he spanked your ass lightly as you gathered your work clothes from the closet. His eyes were trained on you, tip of his thumb between his teeth, not even hiding how much he enjoyed the view of you walking away.

God, this man was going to kill you.

Even though you had been so sure of your decision the night before, now you weren't so certain. Sure, there were probably some raging hormones pumping through you at the moment that was clouding your judgment, but the conversation you had with Pepper kept playing in your mind. _Nothing in life comes easy or straightforward. But it will be worth it. _You could get very used to a life like this, the parties and traveling, waking up next to Steve and morning makeout sessions that wouldn't be interrupted by thoughts of failing hard drives or cracked screens.

As you let the steaming water run over you (so much better than your shower at your apartment,) you couldn't help feeling like you were washing away the night before. All the hairspray and beautiful knotwork went right down the drain with the bubbles. The last lingering traces of the gorgeous makeup, perfume and lotions, even some of the nail polish was gone. Cinderella changing back into a commoner with nothing more than a glass slipper to prove that it had happened.

The necklace was the only thing that assured you all of this was real. It was a heavy but comforting weight against your skin, one that you knew you didn't ever want to take off. Slipping your work shirt over your head, you made sure the diamond and aquamarine pendant stayed firmly under it. There was no way you could let Ashley or anyone see that at work.

Dressing the rest of the way and combing your hair back (to let it dry on its own,) you stepped out of the bathroom, a fully real commoner in the presence of the unreal Prince, who was sitting at the small dining table reading the newspaper. A fully real commoner who had just as much of a time constraint at Cinderella did: 12:15. Grabbing your bag, you threw the things you knew were yours into it, phone chargers and the like, and you slipped your work sneakers back on. "I'm so sorry, I have to go…" you apologized, grabbing a piece of toast from his plate.

"No need," he sighed, folding the paper back haphazardly and tossing it to where your plate would have been, "Go, be the Genius I know you are," and he gave you a warm smile that you couldn't help but mirror back.

"I'm in the back today, you know," you started a bit nervously, "So you can text me and I can respond."

Steve lifted his arms above his head, stretching his long torso with a yawn, "Yeah, I might do that. Go, get out of here. Breakfast isn't worth it to be late by a few minutes." and he shooed you out.

You nodded awkwardly before stepping out into the hallway, closing the heavy door behind you. 12:20. Shit. The carriage was turning into a pumpkin at an alarming rate. You raced down the elevators and through the lobby, looking every bit as frantic and out of place as you felt, and groaned outwardly as you got stopped by the light at Wacker.

Never in your life had you ever experienced this much of a dichotomy. Across the river was safe. It was known. It was fine. But behind you, nearly 22 floors up, was something rare. Exciting. _New_. But safe things were safe for a reason. Risk did not equal a reward and oftentimes resulted in loss. You didn't have much to lose, but that little bit that could be lost was all your own. So when the walk signal lit, you crossed the street, putting the excitement behind you.

"Cutting it a little close, are we?" one of your leads, Matt, welcomed you as you pushed through the heavy door to the back of house. Matt was younger, the typical hipster, beard and combed over hair. He got off on his ability to pull power trips and you did not appreciate his favoritism at all. The two of you never really saw eye to eye, to say the least. You knew you were a minute or two late, punching in and shoving you bag into an empty locker. He followed you around as you got yourself together, never a good sign.

"I hit every Don't Walk signal," you explained. It was technically true. You would have made it if you could have crossed Wacker.

"I need you to do me a favor." And there it was. The famous "favor" from the leads. They always needed a favor from anyone who was scheduled to be in the repair room.

"Seriously?" You whined.

"I need you to take one. Just one and we'll be caught up."

"How are we even behind? We've only been open two hours…"

"Kash will be in soon and then you can go back and get started on repairs," he pleaded, "Look, sticky keys. That's an easy one," and he showed you the queue on the iPad, your name assigned to that customer.

"That in warranty RAM beeps is an easier one…" you bargained, but his face hardened.

"Part of being a good teammate and a peer leader isn't arguing or whining when we need a favor…" he started to lecture and you just sighed, grabbing an iPad from the holder and pushing back through the heavy door.

One customer turned to two before Kash graced the store with her presence, casually waltzing in nearly 40 minutes late. It was a huge double standard and she knew it, but she knew how to talk her way in and out of any situation, so she got away with murder. If you had shown up 40 minutes late, you would have been fired, and this morning would have actually been fucking worth it. You were finally allowed to go to the back and you squeezed through the line of chairs at the phone repair bench to take your seat in the secluded corner. The best place in the store. The computer repair station.

"Yo, how long should I quote for a hard drive on a 2011 desktop?" Ashton called from the other end even before you could turn to see what repairs you had to do that day. He was a more senior technician than you were and could easily be a lead, but he just didn't care.

"Um, I don't know yet. I would quote end of day to be safe," you called back, pulling up the repair queue. Logic boards, a speaker, top case, display… "Did anyone set up this stress test yet?"

"Bet. Imma tell them two hours," and Ashton left the room.

"What part of end of day equals two hours?!" you yelled after him, but it was useless. All of it was useless. Megan was right, no one did work around here anymore. Scanning the notes quickly, you found that no one had bothered to set up the stress test that needed to be started that morning. Taking hold of the heavy computer, you managed to lift it onto the shelf above everyone's head, plugging it in and hooking it up to the network. In just a few minutes and keystrokes you pulled up two 4K videos to run on repeat and a couple of 3D animations to render and run at the same time. It was enough that if there was an issue with the computer, it would shut down with that load of computing power running through it. They rarely shut down.

Sitting back in your chair, you sighed as you sorted through the repair queue. You knew you needed to pull out either the logic board or the top case and get those going, or at the very least knock out all the data migrations, but your mind wouldn't allow you to focus. You were going to give up Bucky Barnes and parties with a view for this? For bargaining with your bosses and yelling at your coworkers? For RAM beeps and hard drives? Even your brain was screaming that it didn't make any sense anymore. There was only one thing holding you back from a life that you wanted more and more: You.

You were the one who had a problem with going to Steve's house. You were the one who felt undeserving of Steve's attention. You were the one who had a problem with the money. You were the one who felt apprehensive about how he made his money. You were the one who felt anxious, felt you were worth less than the others you had met last night. You were the one who kept saying no, kept pushing away when you said you wanted to lean in. Well, you weren't leaning in. And you weren't leaning in because of… this. Because this was what you knew. Because here, in this world of normalcy, you were in control. Because back here, you really couldn't get hurt. Because you were waiting for Ashton to bring back an old ass computer so you could stick in a new hard drive and be a hero. And suddenly that didn't seem like a good enough reason anymore.

Playing it safe meant playing it stupid.

"So I told them you'll call, but it should be done around 3 if they wanted to stop in. I talked them out of the data migration though so you should be good on time," Ashton interrupted your thoughts as he set the heavy computer in front of you, "And I grabbed the part for you."

"Thanks," was all you managed to get out before he left you again. You pried off the front glass panel before starting in on all the screws. You had done this repair a million times before, your hands going on autopilot. Your brain had way too much on it's mind to pay any attention to a hard drive replacement.

It was only when you heard your name over the walkie that you finally got pulled from your thoughts, the hard drive repair long since done.

"On walkie, go ahead," you responded back, setting the finished topcase in the pickup slot. The thing with the walkies was that everyone on the floor had earpieces, so customers couldn't hear, but everyone in the repair room could hear everything.

"Hey, I got a guy up here at check-in who says he was told to ask for you?" Sammy's voice called back, "I told him to wait at the pick up table." You paused for a moment, trying to wrack your brain as to who it could be. You had called a few customers that their repairs were done, but none of them needed to talk to you. Even the two appointments you had taken from the queue were finished, no follow up needed.

Realization hit you and the bottom fell out of your stomach just before Ashley caught on too. For a split second, she snapped her head up just in time to see you run past her chair.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she yelled as she stood, chasing you out of the repair room and onto the floor.

Sure enough, casually checking out the phone cases was Steve. He had showered and dressed after you had left, wearing his perfect ass hugging jeans and a thinning black henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and all the buttons undone, making sure that anyone whose eyes lingered long enough would get a very nice peek at his chest. He was such a slut.

Ashley managed to get past you before you could get to the table, ignoring all the customers she actually should have been helping. "Hi, if you have any questions I would be more than happy to help you," she chimed, her pink smiling face beaming up at him. You could see as her eyes took him in up close and you couldn't help but wonder if she would short-circuit if you told her what the two of you had been doing that morning. Steve stopped his fake decision making and glanced over her shoulder to meet your eyes. All you could do was shrug and look pointedly at the back of her head, mouthing her name. He caught on quickly.

"Ashley, right?" he started and you could actually see how her whole body lit up with excitement, "I think you helped me last time. Remember? I was having some wifi issues…" he started and the blood slowly drained from her face.

"Yeah, I totally remember!" she lied and you couldn't help but watch the car crash that was about to happen, "Everything's good now, right?"

Steve just kind of stared at her with mild amusement, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head and he let the smallest sliver of his abs show just above the white waistband of his boxer briefs. Your eyes met his and you couldn't help the knowing grin that came across your lips. What a tease.

"Uh, yeah. Well…" and his eyes snapped back to her, his face scrunching up in disappointment, "See, there wasn't anything wrong with my computer, so you didn't really help me. I ended up having a techy friend come over to my house and they fixed the issue." Her face fell in an instant, knowing that he knew she was lying about helping him. It would have almost been funny if Ashley hadn't been trying so hard to gain his attention.

"Oh, that's great then," she tried awkwardly, "So, are you looking at getting a new phone case or just wanted to come back to see me?"

Steve took a moment to process her bold flirtation before retorting, "No, actually, I'm here to see someone else," and she turned around, following his gaze towards you. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," he asked.

"Perfect timing, actually. I was just about to head out for lunch," you responded, punching out on the easypay and handing it to Ashley as you walked past her, "It's a gorgeous day, mind if we go sit outside? It's a bit crowded in here." There was a lot of satisfaction in that and you could practically feel her eyes trying to light you on fire.

You started to head for the door and Steve followed close behind, but not before gathering the paper gift bag he had brought and bidding Ashley a thoughtful goodbye. You wove your way through the crowd of people and the two of you slipped out a side entrance, walking a little way down the river to a more secluded spot, settling on the steps. As soon as you were outside of the view of the store, his lips were on yours again, stealing away as many tiny sweet pecks as he could possibly get out of you.

"What are you doing here?" you giggled between kisses, "I said you could text me, not ambush me at work."

"Why not? You've seen me work, I like seeing you work. It's sexy," he answered against your lips and you had to practically push him to sit. He finally sat next to you on the steps, placing the bag at your feet, "We have some… matters… that we need to get settled. Plus you forgot a bunch of stuff at the hotel. You really should be more careful with your things," he teased.

Truth was, you hadn't really forgotten anything and he knew it. But by all means, you couldn't exactly show up to work with Louboutins under your arm. "They aren't mine, Steve," you tried.

"Yes, they are," he retorted, his voice slightly exasperated from having this battle with you every time, "I had said that anything that is bought for you for an event is yours to keep. Under that part of the deal, the dress and shoes are yours," and he leaned down to fish something out from the bag, "And your payment," and he handed you a thin white envelope, identical to the one from his house.

You knew it was useless to argue with him about the money and you didn't really want to go back down that road again. You folded it in half as best you could, noticing that it was thicker than last time, and shoved it into your pocket. Last night had been magical, and this morning was incredible. The fact that he was here sitting with you was unbelievable. And now there was only one thing to do that was logical.

Biting your lip nervously, you knew this was the right decision, "Steve?"

His eyes met yours, the blue shining brightly in the sun. There was fear in them, a fear that broke your heart to know that you had put it there, but cracking through just like the small specks of green in his eyes, was hope. Gently you took his hands in your own, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"Yes, I'll do it."


	7. Chapter 7 - Diamond Dogs

A/N: There's smut in this chapter, so here's your M rating stuff. Thanks for reading! Please review!

"I have to be in DC by Wednesday."

"Anything exciting?"

"Not really. Meeting at the Pentagon. Boring weapons stuff."

"Oh."

"I will need you to meet me in New York by Friday morning."

"For Mr. Stark's party?"

"Bingo."

"For how long?"

"We'll fly back Sunday afternoon."

"Okay."

Furniture had started to arrive, real honest to god furniture. The couch Steve had chosen was practically a bed, deep and wide enough for both of you to lay in it (well, you were laying on top of him a bit). He had insisted that Thomas pick you up after work on Sunday, knowing that you always had Monday off, and the two of you hadn't really done much but lazed around the house, ordering in food and binging Netflix. He had done some work, answering a few calls and writing up a proposal, but you hadn't done anything. He didn't want you to. "This was your day to relax," he said, insisting that he just liked having someone else around. He must get bored and lonely in this giant house alone. To be honest, it must have been pretty lonely to be Steve Rogers. All your friends being in the same business, no family to speak of, the only outside perspective being the guy who drove you around. It made complete sense that he would be so comfortable with the arrangement the two of you had made.

"When do you leave for DC?" you asked absentmindedly, your chin resting on top of your hands that were folded on his chest. His right arm was draped over you, curving across your hip and the Avocados at Law were currently trying to win a case. It was curious how much Steve didn't like wearing shirts around his house.

"Tomorrow," he stated, bringing his free hand up to rub his face, "In the afternoon. I'll stay all day Wednesday and fly from there to New York Thursday after my last meeting. What's your schedule look like?"

You scrunched up your face, trying to remember your shifts for the next week, "I know I work Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday… I want to say I clopen Wednesday and Thursday."

"What the hell is clopen?"

You snorted at his ignorance. Obviously, he never served his time in the occupational hell known as retail shift work, "It's when you close one night and open the next day. I'm 12:30-9:30 on Wednesday and then 9-6 on Thursday. And then off Friday and Sunday, and ... I'm 12-9 on Saturday." You didn't want to say it. You didn't want to say the words that you knew by this point he hated so much and you were starting to loathe as well. Steve looked down at you, knowing what it was you were thinking, but you knew you couldn't miss this event because of one day of work. "I'll handle it.

He visibly softened at your words and he placed a light kiss on the top of your head. "Good girl," he murmured and that same warm sensation moved through you, tugging up at the corners of your lips. You would never admit it but when he did things like that, he kicked your praise kink into serious overdrive. "Believe me, you won't want to miss Tony's party, and especially not just to stay here and get yelled at for 8 hours."

No, you wouldn't want that.

But now you had to actually handle it and you had no idea how to approach it most effectively. Your first thought was to try to get someone to switch shifts with you. The good thing about switching was that you wouldn't actually be missing work, not that you couldn't afford to miss a day now. But, on the other hand, there was so much leg work involved. You would have to find out who already had that day off, and then find out who would be okay taking a Saturday shift. No one in their right mind would voluntarily give up a Saturday off. And then you were left with having to work the next Monday, your one consistent day off a week. Plus, who knew what Steve would want. He probably already had plans for you as soon as the two of you got back. No, switching your shift wouldn't be feasible.

Somehow, you managed to keep quiet about the trip the whole week, which wasn't easy for you. Especially because you were bursting with excitement. Every free moment you had at work you were on your phone, either looking at a new outfit to buy for the occasion or texting with Steve. You could tell he was bored in DC. He had finally come through with those shirtless workout videos you had wanted so early into your liaison and he wanted to know every detail about every customer you helped, saying that it was more interesting than the senators and lobbyists he was stuck catering to. But when it came to your inquiries about the trip, he was quiet. He only really disclosed the details on a need to know basis.

And to him, you didn't really need to know much.

So when your shift Thursday finally came to a close (after starting the day by resurrecting a computer only for it to load the porn the customer had been watching), the sight of Thomas standing next to the BMW just outside of the plaza was more than welcome.

"Is there anything else you may need?" He asked as he placed your backpack in the trunk of the car.

"No, I don't think so," you answered, sliding into the back seat through the open door, "Steve told me to just bring the essentials and he'll take care of the rest."

"Really, we have time, we can swing back up to your apartment if you need to grab another bag."

Was there something you were missing? You followed Steve's instructions, not that Thomas knew what they were, "No, I think I'm good," you finished firmly.

Thomas just nodded in the mirror before joining the flow of traffic once again. Normally the conversation with him flowed easily, although you still felt a little odd being driven around everywhere, but this time it felt strained. It wasn't a heavy silence, per se. It just felt… different. Maybe you had been too firm, too demanding? It wasn't really your place to give Thomas orders; he didn't work for you. But you had a sneaking suspicion that something else was going on.

"Are you coming to New York too?" you asked lightly, unsure if you really wanted to know the answer. If he was, well then, he would end up being the third-wheel. But if he didn't…

"No, no," he started, pulling back onto 90/94 north, "Mr. Rogers said it didn't really make sense for me to come too. Said he would be too busy to make it worth my trouble." And there it was. Even though Thomas was a more practical employee, Steve didn't prefer his company anymore. In the past, even if Steve was too busy, Thomas was more than happy to entertain himself on these trips. But now Steve wasn't just busy; Steve was busy with you.

"But that means you'll have some time off, right? A three day weekend essentially," you tried to spin, wanting so badly to assuage the guilt that was rising within you.

He did seem to lighten up with that, "I'm excited. My brother and I are going to a Cubs game on Saturday and then out to the bars in Wrigleyville."

"That sounds like a blast," you echoed. Not really a blast for you but talking about it made the air in the car considerably lighter, so you feigned enthusiasm. It wasn't the worst thing you had ever faked.

Once the airport was in sight, you gathered your purse and watched, wondering what airline Steve preferred to fly. But Thomas blew right past the terminals completely, entering through a side road and pulling up to a hangar directly.

"What." was all you could deadpan, looking around. Surely this had to be a joke.

"Is this all there is for luggage?" a crew member asked as he pulled your backpack from the trunk.

"Apparently. I asked if she needed to stop to grab anything else," Thomas answered and you sighed.

"I was told to only pack the essentials..." you explained again, annoyed that everyone seemed to have an opinion about your packing. Plus, it wasn't like you could just drag a suitcase to work without anyone questioning it. You had done the best you could with what you had been instructed.

People buzzed around you, the sounds of final checks echoing around the hangar. Your brain still hadn't fully caught up with the situation and all you could do was stand awkwardly to the side while someone checked your ID. Had you known you were going to be taking a private jet to New York, you would have dressed for the occasion. At the very least, you would have brought a change of clothes. Instead, jeans and a work shirt it was. Within a few minutes' time, you were up in the air, streaming Netflix, a whole plane to yourself. What a weird, but efficient, way to travel.

Two hours later, you were touching down at JFK, and within minutes of landing, Steve was standing in the hangar, still dressed in his suit from his meetings, a black Audi waiting behind him. His usually bright eyes were dulled from the day, watching as you took the steps down from his plane.

"Is that all you have?" he asked, his eyes lingering on your backpack on your shoulder.

"You said only bring the essentials…" you sighed, a little annoyed that even he didn't seem to understand how covert you had to be about this arrangement if you were going to get away with it.

"Yes, you're right, I did say essentials," he responded, holding open the door to the car for you to slip in, "I would have expected at least a suitcase but it's fine, we can get anything else. Are you hungry?" and he slipped in next to you, casually draping his arm over your shoulders. Without even a second thought you leaned your head onto his shoulder, just enjoying his presence again. After spending almost every day or two with him, your mind and body had gotten pretty used to having him around. Three days apart felt too long right now.

"Not really. I'm just exhausted," you answered, closing your eyes as the car pulled out of the hangar, "All I really want is to get out of these clothes and get into bed with you."

"Oh, that can definitely be arranged," he murmured, a sly smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he pressed them to yours.

The pale morning light filtered through the thick curtains, the gray thunderclouds keeping the room dim. A low rumble rolled over the city and heavy raindrops beat against the plate glass door to the balcony. A strong arm moved across you, pulling you back, his long frame conforming to your curves. Lacing your fingers with his, you sighed contentedly, his breaths tickling your neck. This was not a day to run errands. This was not a day to have to go to work. This was not a day to leave the bed if you could help it. The bed was soft, the blankets warm, Steve's body a comforting weight against you. This was as relaxing as it could be.

And yet, here you were, mind awake. You willed your body to sleep longer, annoyed that routine had decided it was time to be awake. It was Friday, your day off. There was literally no need to be up, not when the rain and the company was so inviting.

So when you felt the press of two scruffy lips to your shoulder blade, it was a little surprising. Steve usually didn't get up early when he didn't have to. A free hand swept your hair away from your neck, being replaced with those same lips kissing a trail up to your ear. You giggled from the tickling of his beard and the arm that was still wrapped around you pulled you even tighter to him, an unmistakable invitation pressing against your ass. Someone else was up as well. Oh god, you wanted to and knowing that there wouldn't be any interruptions this time made it that much sweeter. Instinctively, your hips moved back into him, that free hand slowly slipping up the front of your tank top. Your back arched, an arm reaching behind you to tangle into his hair as he teased the bud hard, his fingertips working magic against your skin. Jesus, if that is what he could do with just his fingers...

Kisses dusted your neck and shoulder as he played with your body, the fabric of his sweatpants frustrating the situation to no end. You ground up against him, wanting so badly to reach behind yourself and push the waistband down, just enough to feel him against your skin. The thought of that made the coil in your core tighten and when his other hand finally pushed under the waistband of your silk shorts and panties, you couldn't help but let out a small moan.

"Aren't you going to let me get you off?" He growled deeply, his teeth against your ear, and his knee managed to wedge between your thighs, keeping your legs apart and giving his hands plenty of room to roam where they wish. Turning your head, his lips found yours just as his fingers found your core, his effect on you being evidenced by how wet you already were. It was ridiculous what this man could do to you with just a touch and a few words. His knee lifted, forcing your leg to move over his, opening you up wider and yet, he had you trapped. Hot, heavy breaths played against your lips, your sighs and soft moans being breathed in by Steve. You wanted to roll over, to get on top of him and pull your clothes off, to make sure he was getting the same pleasure you were but you couldn't. He wouldn't give up the control he had over you just yet.

Pressing two fingers in, he seethed against your lips, "Fuck, you're tight." You adjusted around him, his thumb swirling around the sensitive bud, sending pure electricity through every nerve in your body. The fire was lit in your core, roaring and unbridled, and you gave yourself over to the sensations he was creating within you. Never had your body been worshipped like this. Instinctively, your hips moved against him, his dick rock hard in your ass and his fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. You tried to move your hand down, getting your fingers as far as the cut of his hip, but he pulled your arm away, "Be a good girl and cum for me."

Jesus Christ, Steve knew what he was doing. With you breath caught in your chest, you rocked against his hand, willing him to take you just where you needed to be.

A sharp rasp came at the door, less timid than housekeeping would be.

"Come back later," Steve turned, yelling towards the door, but the suite was so big you weren't sure the person on the other side could hear him. The smallest of whines escaped your throat at the loss of his lips on your own, one that he didn't let slip past him. With a wicked grin, he slipped a third finger in and you had to bite your bottom lip to keep from making too much noise.

The pounding on the door came back.

"Fuck off!" Steve yelled again, this time angrier and louder than before.

"Well I would, pal, but I have a feeling you're doing it for me," Bucky's silvery voice came from the other side.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tiny pinpricks of frustrated tears threatening to show themselves. Steve's ministrations on your body stopped, a very vocal 'fuck' coming from under his breath. That's what you wished you were doing right now, but instead, he slowly detangled himself from you, but not without making sure he left you with the most passionate good morning kiss. It almost made up for your ruined orgasm. Almost.

"Come on, man, I'm soaked out here," Bucky's voice rang again.

"Yeah, so was she," you heard Steve mumble as he threw on a thick robe, managing to hide his excitement from earlier. You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from that, knowing that Steve was just as furious at the interruption as you were.

You sorted out your pajamas before climbing out of bed yourself, slipping on some fuzzy slippers and the hotel-provided robe. It seemed rude to just stay in the bedroom, hidden away, while Steve entertained a guest you knew, however unwanted Bucky was at this moment.

Stepping into the living room portion of the suite, Bucky wasn't kidding when he said he was soaked. He had been outside in the storm by the looks of it, his already fitted workout shirt clinging to his wet chest, less defined than Steve's but still impressive. A lady from room service had snuck in behind him, setting up some small breakfast choices.

"Good morning, Mr. Barnes," you greeted lightly, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice.

"Hey," he greeted with a glance in your direction, doing a double-take once your presence really registered, "Holy shit, good morning," and his whole demeanor changed, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you in a bathrobe. "I had no idea Stevie was bringing you to New York," and he pulled a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back off his face. He watched as you took a seat on the couch next to where Steve was standing, your bare leg peeking from the fold of your robe as you crossed your legs.

"Buck," Steve firmly interrupted and Bucky's eyes snapped back to his, "Why are you here?"

The man sighed heavily, opening himself up for mercy, "I was out doing a run and I got caught in the storm. I'll take a car back to my hotel but I was hoping to borrow some clothes so I don't get the back seat all wet. And I don't suppose you heard about Stark's party?"

"No what about it?" Steve asked as he disappeared back into the bedroom, presumably to gather some clothes for the poor man.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment before answering, "He just decided that it's no wives, girlfriends...or the sort allowed."

It felt like a small bolt went through you. Not that you had been particularly excited about the party itself, but you had come all this way and now you weren't going to be able to go. What the fuck were you going to do while Steve was out mixing and mingling and working? Why didn't Steve know about this before he had made all these arrangements for you to be here?

"Bullshit," Steve responded, handing Bucky a pair of athletic shorts and a sweatshirt.

"Honest to God. I'm sure you got the memo in your inbox too."

"Why the fuck would he do that?"

You couldn't help but listen intently, sipping your juice to placate your growing hunger. You knew it wasn't really your place to protest, to say anything really. After all, you were a guest, not a must-have at this party.

"I don't know, man," and Bucky decided that where he stood was as good a place as any to pull off his soaked shirt, allowing you to get a good look at his toned torso. What was with these men and hiding all their hard work behind silk shirts and wool suits? Although it was probably better for that; it would have been in bad taste for you to leave Steve's own party with one of his guests. All too quickly, he zipped the hoodie up with a knowing smirk. "My only guess is that Pepper might not be there, so he doesn't want any of us to be happy either."

Your eyes went to Steve's, silently trying to let him know that you were okay with not going. You weren't really, it sucked all around, but you didn't need to be adding to his burden. Maybe if you left later tonight you could still go to work tomorrow…

"Too fucking bad. Stark's not my boss. You're coming."

The storm showed no signs of letting up and once Bucky finally took his leave, Steve suggested that the two of you have a full spa day; massages, facials, the works. He took care of everything and after a quick breakfast, the two of you headed down to the fourth floor, separating for your treatments.

Which for you started with some pain.

"Are you fucking serious?" you murmured as you were left to get yourself prepared. You knew it had been a little bit, but you at least made an effort to keep yourself neat and trimmed. But you had a feeling that during your little tryst this morning, Steve wanted more than an effort, and you knew you needed to shave your legs.

An hour and a half later, there wasn't a hair left on your body below your waist. She took everything.

By three hours later, the same woman scrubbed and rubbed your entire body, wrapped you in seaweed and plastic wrap, bushed jelly and charcoal on your face, and massaged your scalp with some oil that smelled like bug spray and tingled. Your feet were dipped in wax and scraped, hot stones set on your spine, and you only almost fell asleep twice. Not a bad day off.

By the time both of you finished, the rain had let up and housekeeping had been out to dry off the terrace. Steve ordered dinner for the two of you, just relaxing and talking with each other, never changing from your robes. A girl could get used to a life like this, not a care in the world, looking out over the city of New York.

Which made the next day that much harder, when your worries came crashing back.

The two of you were up early, genuinely up early, with the number of things you needed to do before heading to Mr. Stark's party, for better or for worse. Steve had booked the salon for you again (not trusting that you could get yourself ready, for some reason) and this time you knew better than wearing anything you had to pull over your head down there. While he was in the shower, you snuck into his closet, slipping one of his light blue dress shirts on, rolling the sleeves up to your elbows.

It was stupid but wearing his shirt gave you a little thrill. It felt good, the soft material on your smooth skin. You felt powerful, sexy, like one of those girls in those stupid friends with benefits movies. You would definitely have to steal one when you got back home.

Home. Work. Fuck.

You fell face down on the bed, turning your phone over in your hands. There was really only one choice. You knew you had to do this. Still, the implications of a decision like this would be something that psychoanalysts would argue for days. Why were you doing this again? Oh, right. A party at the Stark Corporation was a much better use of a Saturday than being yelled at by people who tried to bend their screen fully back and snapped their computer in half. That was why.

"What's up?" Steve asked, his jeans slung low on his hips so his navy blue waistband of his boxers was exposed, hair slicked back, fresh from the shower but not yet shaved. That was something you hoped you never got used to, the fact that he didn't like wearing shirts.

"Nothing," you sighed, scrolling through your contacts. He didn't say much as he laid on the mattress next to you, his eyes never leaving yours. His piercing blue eyes could read you like a book and you knew there was no bullshitting him, "I have to call off work now. I hate calling off."

"Ah," was all he said, rolling to his side to face you as his arm casually slung across your lower back, "I can have the jet ready if you really wanted to go back…"

With a final sigh, you tapped the number for the manager direct line. It rang a few times before the friendly voice of Shawn, your store leader, picked up, "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, Shawn," you croaked, making your voice sound tired, "I don't think I'm going to be able to make it in. I've been battling a migraine this morning and it's not letting up." You turned your head to look at Steve, who gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, a smirk on his lips.

"Damn, that sucks," Shawn commiserated on the other line just as Steve ran his fingers under the leg elastic of your panties, getting a handful of your ass and squeezing. You had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from making any noises that would ruin the deception. "Well, get some rest and feel better."

"Thanks. I just took my prescription but it knocks me out, so I'll be pretty out of it all day," you lied, Steve's lips assaulting your neck right next to the phone.

"I'll take you off the schedule. We'll see you next week. Bye," and Shawn hung up just as Steve pulled the phone away from your ear, replacing it with his teeth and lips.

"I take it back, you're a great liar when you want to be," he murmured, his fingers still not letting up their assault on your ass. Dropping your phone on the floor, completely forgotten, Steve pulled your hips to him, a bruising kiss on your lips. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair as his lips moved down over your neck, his scruff tickling you on the way, "Mmmm, you look good in my shirt.

You bit your bottom lip and giggled slightly, feeling much better about your decision to fake sick than to try and trade shifts. He shifted you to your back, kneeling slightly between your legs, and his fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt, his lips devouring the newly exposed skin. To his credit, he let his shirt lay closed, kissing down the middle and between your breasts, letting you keep some amount of modesty. Still, he resisted when you tried to pull him back up to you, a gruff, primal noise coming from him when he reached your navel.

"Steve, you don't have to do this…" you tried to protest but ended up sighing at the feel of his soft lips on the inside of your knee. It's not that you didn't want to, because you fucking wanted to, but you didn't want him to feel like he owed you anything. You didn't want him to think that you expected it because you called off work for him.

"Mmmm, do what?" he asked innocently, his fingertips trailing along your thighs up to the waistband of your panties.

"Whatever it is you're planning on doing," you answered, your eyes fluttering shut as the thin fabric moved over your hips and down your legs. Your breath hitched, curves bouncing as your hand swept into your hair, your folds getting slick from the anticipation.

Discarding your panties over the side of the bed, Steve positioned himself on his stomach, hot breath playing over your most needy area. "Look at me," he ordered and you softly opened your eyes, catching his just above your smooth mound, "I thought I made it clear that you don't get to tell me what to do."

His commanding tone turned you on to no end and the wicked smile that crossed his pink, swollen lips at your nod of understanding was enough to send a spark through your body. Slowly, Steve dipped his head, shivers moving through you as he kissed around your most sensitive part, purposely avoiding where you needed him the most. This was punishment. This was how he would torture you, just for a moment, because you tried to stop him from doing what he wanted. Your hips squirmed slightly, trying to catch him, but his strong hands pinned them down to the mattress. You weren't going anywhere.

Gently, the tip of his tongue moved up your slit, just barely touching your ragged, raw nerves and the neediest whine came from deep within you. This only seemed to spur him on more, his lips moving back to the inside of your other thigh, the scruff of his beard both tickling and scratching the sensitive skin, giving both pain and pleasure. His fingers though, his fingers explored you, two of them testing you ever so slightly before he slipped them both in with ease.

"Holy fuck," you breathed, throwing your head back into the mattress. He felt just as good as the morning before, your tight, wet cunt adjusting around him, and when he finally did let his lips taste your sweet bud, the cry that came out of you was primal.

He murmured against you in kind, his fingers working within you, doing their best to stoke the flame into an inferno. You were at his complete mercy and dear lord, you loved it. His tongue swirled in patterns over you and you couldn't help it when one of your hands tangled in his hair, trying to keep his mouth exactly where you needed it the most. The other trailed up, grasping at your tits, needing the stimulation all over your body.

The coil was red hot within you, wound so tightly it could snap at any moment. Your thighs squeezed to him, your hips in rhythm with his fingers and tongue. You wanted to ride this wave forever. He pulled more moans and whimpers from you, your breath hitching every time he threatened to stop even for just a moment. And finally, when he sucked with his lips and used his tongue to swirl your juices, you snapped.

White-hot lightning struck through you, radiating off of every nerve and into every fiber of your being. Head back, back arched, your thighs held onto his head for dear life, his fingers and tongue making sure you were as spent as you possibly could be. Your brain went foggy for a moment before clearing completely, the oxygen finally catching up.

Holy shit was right. You had been with people before, you weren't some angelic virgin, but you've never came that hard… or as quickly, before. Your whole body tingled and was warm, the chemicals in your system making you a little love drunk. Steve was going to make sure you were taken care of, and not just financially or materially either. How the absolute fuck did you get so lucky?

He laid soft kisses back up your body until his lips met your own again, breathing life back into you, and he pulled your body to his, your exposed skin finally coming into contact with his own. Your soft curves conformed to his hard chest and you let out a gentle moan against his lips. Your head was swimming, the memory of your first kiss rushing back to you, how all the layers of cloth only served to frustrate you at the time. You could say with absolute certainty now, it had been fucking worth the wait.

Your fingers trailed down between the two of you, taking time to dip into each line, appreciate each cut of muscle before they moved along the edge of the waistband of his boxers.

"Mmmm…. We need to get going," he murmured as he gently grasped your wrists, moving them back to your body.

"But…" you whined.

"No, they're expecting you downstairs…" he kissed along your jaw, peeling himself from you. You sighed in defeat, the chilled air in the room bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. It wasn't fair for you to be disappointed, especially because you were the one who finished, but you were greedy and wanted more. Especially because he was walking away while wearing those jeans that hugged his ass in the best way. Watching as he disappeared into the next room, you buried your smiling face in a pillow. You could be patient. Maybe.

The time in the spa was much the same as it was before; a lady curled your hair into soft, glamorous waves while another one painted your nails and did your makeup, opting for a fun bright eye look. It was obvious that this party was going to be different from Steve's, less formal and you suspected, with the No Girls Allowed policy, more debauchery. He had picked out a gorgeous dress, navy blue sequins set in stripes, set off with thousands of tiny silver beads. It was strappy, with a cowl neckline and cinched at your waist, the pencil skirt flowing down to your knees, with two long slits up each thigh. The look was completed with silver Manolo Blahnik ankle-wrap stilettos, long delicate silver chain earrings, and of course, the necklace that you hadn't taken off since he put it on you.

Steve stood tall next to you, clean-shaven, adjusting his blue tie that just happened to perfectly match your dress and set off his eyes. He was wearing a crisp, clean white dress shirt and light gray slacks that had a subtle plaid pattern through them. He had his brown oxfords shined and as he slipped on the brown suede jacket, the same one he was wearing when you first met him, your heart melted a little.

You adored the duality of him, the way that he could be both the easy, relaxed, flirty guy who sipped wine and ordered poké and this gentleman, perfectly polished and ready to close some deals. When the internet said "get you a man who can do both," they meant Steve.

You gently slipped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder as you both took one final look in the mirror, "You look…" you started, trying to find the right words and instead having to settle on a movie quote, "Devastatingly handsome."

Steve perked up his eyebrows at that compliment, "Oh, really? But I'm not even wearing my leopard print vest," and he held the door to the suite open for you. The fact that he actually understood that reference only made you like him more. The two of you traveled hand in hand down the hallway and you had no choice but to run with this.

"Yes, well, now that you said it…" and you took a big breath, looking a bit unsure of yourself, "I probably should save that level of handsome for such an occasion. Even for you, it is extremely difficult to compete with the Sausage King of Chicago."

"Ah, yeah, I don't think I got what it takes to be on the same level as Abe Froman," he said as he smiled, placing a sweet kiss on your lips just as the elevator doors opened. Stepping in, he punched the button for the lobby and the two of you met your driver for the evening just outside the hotel doors. Once the two of you were comfortably in the back seat of the luxurious car, he continued, "You know, that movie is what made me want to move to Chicago."

"Craving a day off?" you asked with a smirk.

"Something like that. Minus the parade, it is a pretty perfect advertisement for the city," he bemused, "Baseball, the Art Institute, but I still haven't done any of those things that he did that looked so great. Well, save for the view from Hancock," and he looked at you proudly.

Your eyes softened for him as you listened, loving the fact that he did want his own perfect day off, but you didn't know how to break it to him, "Oh, honey…" and you placed your hand tenderly over his own, looking him deep in his eyes, "They looked out of the Sears Tower, not Hancock…"

Instantly, he face slackened like his heart had just fallen to the floor. He hung his head in shame, "So I haven't done any Ferris Bueller things?"

"No, sweety," you commiserated, biting your lip to try to keep from laughing, "But it's okay, we can drive down Lake Shore Drive together," and you patted his hand softly.

You had been to New York before, it seemed like a lifetime ago, visiting friends, so you had a rough idea of where you were. With a contented sigh, you watched as the lights zoomed by, the tall buildings at once feeling so foreign and familiar. In the distance, you could see Stark Tower, a beacon of light reaching for the heavens. Surely, this party was going to be at his own building? However, the beacon was engulfed by the surrounding buildings as you headed away from it, going south.

The city had done its fair share of putting on a show, going past Madison Square Park and the Flatiron building, before the scenery moved away from highrises and into comfortable, stylish apartments. You knew that Steve grew up in Brooklyn, well before it became the gentrified hipster haven it was now. You couldn't help but wonder if being back here stirred something inside of him. "Do you miss living here?" you asked Steve softly, still watching out the window for anything you might recognize.

"Sometimes, when I think about it," he replied in just as hushed of tones, "It's so busy and there's so much to do, it's exciting to be around that energy." You nodded in understanding, feeling a little sad for giving him such a hard time about being a Brooklyn Boy. "But, when I'm here, I feel like I have to be working all the time. It's far too much effort to live outside of the city, to have a piece of land like I do back home. I would never relax. It wasn't healthy."

That part you supposed was true. For someone who owned their own international arms conglomerate, you had only seen him do work (that wasn't a party or in another city) once, maybe twice. He did seem to have a shocking amount of time to spend with you, at least. And part of you knew that if the setting had been different, had you been living here, in New York, he wouldn't have given you any of his precious time.

The car pulled over within a neighborhood and slowed to a stop, indicating that you must have been near. The driver stepped out and opened your door for you, offering his hand so you could steady yourself. Stiletto heels generally didn't do very well on cobblestone streets. Steve came around to your side of the car and took over, walking steadily with you until you safely reached the sidewalk. It was a little embarrassing for you. You had wanted to show him that you weren't naïve, that you were a woman he could show off and be proud of, but his warm arm around your waist let you know that he didn't seem to mind.

The two of you stepped into a… bar, if you could call it that. It was absolutely tiny, only had room for really three small tables, and the counter took up the entire back wall, save for a door. It was also nearly pitch black inside, a few oil lamps lighting chosen areas as to not make it a completely weird place. Seriously, you were pretty sure your kitchen in your apartment was bigger than this literal hole in the wall.

Not to mention, it was empty.

"Where the hell are we?" you wondered out loud, your eyes trying to adjust to see as much as you possibly could. You think Steve made a gesture to the barkeep because the man held open a door that was nearly invisible tucked away in the corner. Firmly, he held your hand in his own and led the way, through the back prep area (that was much better lit) and down some stairs to a small hallway that ended with another door, this one painted red.

Well, this wasn't foreboding or anything now, was it? With a squeeze of your hand, a reassuring grin, and a twinkle in his eyes, he opened the door.

It was an explosion of sound, AC/DC blaring from every corner of the sizable room, Thunderstruck if you weren't mistaken. The walls were draped with deep black curtains, red lights highlighting different areas, white spotlights on the women who were currently pole dancing at various small stages around the venue. They were all in various stages of undress, it seemed, and suddenly you felt overdressed, not that that wasn't a good thing. There were plush couches lining the walls with more women lounging, giggling and smiling at the men who sat near. Ah. Suddenly the No Girls Allowed policy made sense.

The rest of the floor space was taken up by various casino games; poker, blackjack, roulette, craps and the like. Which were very illegal. Obviously Mr. Stark wasn't too worried about being busted though. It wasn't that you were uncomfortable, you didn't mind gambling and the prostitutes at least looked high class, it was just all so… _the complete opposite of Steve's party. _

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mr. Rogers," a heavyset man with a thick New York accent stopped the two of you. He was wearing a suit and had a badge that had the Stark Industries logo on it with his picture and his name: Happy Hogan, Head of Security. This apparently meant he got to sit and work the door at these parties, "I can't let you in."

"Happy, please don't embarrass me," Steve retorted, "Now if you just let us through, my guest and I would like to get a drink." You stood a little behind Steve, unsure of what to do. You couldn't really blame Mr. Stark for wanting to keep it a boys night, not with all of this planned. And certainly, you were the only date, so unless Steve was okay with you hanging on him the whole night, he probably would have more fun if you just went back to the hotel. Not that you wanted to though.

"I'm sorry, Steve, but Tony's got a very specific clientele list," Happy affirmed.

"Well check again," Steve pressed, the firm tone he had once used on you coming out. It was chilling to be on the receiving end, but to see him use it to defend you, that sent a thrill through you.

"Yeah, no, you're on the list. She isn't," and he pointed at you with the tip of his pen.

"Your boss isn't my boss, and I'll bring anyone I damn well please…" Steve started and Happy stood from his stool, ready to defend himself if it came to that. Not that you hoped it came to that.

"Whoa, Happy, what's going on here? You're starting to make the other guests nervous," Tony interrupted, looking as if he started the party a little earlier than he advertised. He had decided that a light gray two-piece suit with an old Depeche Mode t-shirt underneath was formal enough.

"Mr. Rogers has brought a ... guest," and all the eyes flicked from Tony to you.

Obviously, Tony didn't like having the attention taken from him and his eyebrows raised high enough that they were visible over his ridiculous red-tinted sunglasses. "Well, clearly Mr. Rogers didn't get the memo. Didn't you see the memo, Steve?" he asked pointedly.

"Tony, come on..." Steve tried.

"Not that you're not wanted here, sweetheart, you're more than certainly dressed to fit the occasion, it's just that I made it clear in the memo you chose to so blatantly ignore..." Tony interrupted, speaking more to you than to Steve, seemingly ignoring him.

"Tony, I want her in there with me..."

"No, tonight is for the boys. I clearly stated no wives or girlfriends."

"Then I guess it's damn good she's not my girlfriend."

You knew that. Of course, you literally and logically knew that. But to hear it actually come from Steve, a public statement that you were not here in New York as his girlfriend, stung. A lot. Especially after how he had been treating you, how he stuck up for you against Bucky's warning, how he made damn sure that every nerve ending in your body would remember exactly what he could do to you. But no. You weren't his girlfriend. You were being paid for tonight.

"Fine, just ignore all the protocols I put in place…" Tony gave up, throwing his hands up in defeat, "But if I even get a whiff that someone somewhere heard something about the goings-on at this party, I'm blaming her and I'm coming after you," and he stuck his finger into Steve's very broad chest before walking back to regain his seat at a poker table.

Happy looked about as unhappy as you felt, although you knew you couldn't say a damn thing. Not right now, at least. Steve wrapped his arm around your waist, a satisfied grin on his face as he led the two of you over to the bar. A few of the businessmen turned to look as the two of you walked past, their expressions ranging from mildly curious to full-on checking you out. It seemed to give Steve a little more strut in his step, showing you off, and you did your best to flash a coy smile while still gazing adoringly at the man who had chosen you for tonight.

"What are we drinking tonight? And don't you dare order another fucked up shot," he laughed, leaning on the bar but facing you.

You gently folded your arms in front of you, laying them on the deep rich wood, and thought out loud, "Well, we are in a casino, it only seems fitting to have something like a martini."

He nodded approvingly and flagged down the bartender, ordering for the both of you. The bartender expertly mixed and poured them high, almost to the rim of the glass, and you were thankful for the small distraction when Steve finally asked the inevitable, "Are you okay?"

Were you okay? No, not really. More so now than any other time, you felt silly, like you were a little girl playing dress-up and getting upset that you found out your prom date only asked you as a bet. But then again, you didn't know why you were getting upset at all. The whole arrangement had been very clearly defined, no matter what it was that you had thought you felt.

"I'm fine," you responded with a deep breath and a smile, "Are you doing okay?"

He studied you as you took a sip of your drink and you forced your eyes to stay with his, knowing that if you didn't, he would know. You would have thought by now you would be used to his x-ray vision, but something about his long pauses as he considered you still made you squirm inside.

"I thought we agreed no bullshitting?" he stated after a moment, turning to his own drink.

"We did," you affirmed, trying to keep your voice light and even, "And so, as your date, I'm fine, really."

"But the thing is that I know that you're not, and I know that it has to do with what I just said to Tony," he insisted, his tone uncomfortably close to firm.

You looked up at him, a sadness behind your eyes but still maintaining a smile on your lips, "Steve," and you gently wrapped your fingers around his tie, straightening it for him before placing both hands on his chest, "I'm not happy about that, no bullshit. But now is not the time to have this discussion. So right now, I'm perfectly fine." He visibly relaxed at your admission and the sadness you were feeling lightened a bit, "I see quite a few gentlemen around here that weren't at your party, seems like a lot of good opportunities for some contracts to happen." That part was true, the place was packed with suits and you could only assume they were all in the same business as Steve. If worked right, this could potentially be a very big night for him.

"You're not wrong there," he breathed, placing his hands on your hips, "Care to be my good luck charm at the craps table?"

"In a little bit, I want to finish my drink first," you purred and he brought his lips down for a kiss, sweet and simple, but one that promised to make you happy again, "Go, lose some of that money you're going to make tonight." He flashed you a wide smile before heading into the crowd that was gathered around the table, already fishing a couple of hundreds out of his wallet to cash in for chips.

"Well that was quite a scene at the door," a silvery voice slipped down your spine and shocked you out of your headspace. You nearly splashed your martini down the front of your dress as you jumped, the shit-eating grin being the first thing you recognized.

"Jesus, Mr. Barnes!" you exclaimed, a hand going to your chest to feel your rapid heartbeat, "You scared the shit out of me."

He sidled up to you, this time the wicked grin paired with an olive on a toothpick. The black suit was back, but he opted for a black leather biker jacket instead of the traditional blazer. The look suited him, gave him that air of bad boy, and letting his eyes take center stage. His eyes that were focused very firmly on taking in your body, a warm sparkle behind them.

"Oh, doll, I think we're way past formalities now. Please, call me Bucky," he asked, his lips turning down in mock hurt.

"Okay, Bucky," you started pointedly, taking a drink to try to stamp down your embarrassment, "So you saw all of that?" Maybe a martini wasn't going to be hard enough to get you through this night.

"Oh, of course I did. I'm pretty sure the only ones who didn't were the guys who are throwing away their 401ks on the strippers," and he nodded towards the group of old men who were leering at the poor half-dressed women on the poles. The two of you watched for a moment as one of the women kneeled in front of a man who was making her crawl towards him to take a $100 bill with her teeth. To be honest, the whole scene was weirding you out just a little too much right now. "How are you, really? Bucky asked sincerely.

Your eyes snapped back to his and you took a great big breath, going back to your drink, "Not great, not after all of that."

He nodded in understanding, turning his body towards you, "Yeah, I think those of us who are in the know could tell. But for what it's worth, you're a great bullshitter when it matters."

"Thanks, I guess…" you responded, finishing off your martini and ordering a manhattan. Might as well, since that's where you were.

"That came out wrong," he started, backtracking a bit, "What I meant to say is that you recovered remarkably well. I watched it all go down, you stayed composed and even turned a few heads. You make Stevie look good, like he knows what he's doing, and that's valuable in this line of work."

You bristled a little at that. Despite what issues you and Steve may or may not have, you would still defend his livelihood. "He does know what he's doing, with or without me. He's an excellent and accomplished businessman, with a successful company. I didn't do any of that, he did."

Bucky shrugged off your comment, "Businessman, yes. He knows his shit, he's smart and strategic, and he can certainly get the governments of the world to write him a check. But before you came along, he was seen as... too clean. These guys, generals and CEOs alike, they don't trust anyone who doesn't have a little dirt on their hands. They'll introduce you to their beautiful wife at one party and their girlfriend for the evening at the next. And if Steve can't at least talk about a girl, then those men won't talk money."

Looking around, Bucky's truth was hard to deny. None of these other men had a girl by their side who wasn't just barely legal. None of them had a second thought when Tony's memo came out. But Steve did. He didn't want to be entertained by just any girl that Tony hired, he wanted you. And if you weren't his girlfriend, it made him look much better to these womanizing assholes.

"So you're saying that Steve needs me?" you asked, putting all the pieces of this ever-changing puzzle together.

Bucky shrugged a bit, letting his voice go lower so you had to lean in to hear him clearly over the music, "I don't want to speak for him on that. But, I think your needs and his needs aren't lining up, and tonight was just a preview."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you need to figure out who you are to him and either accept it… or do something about it, maybe find someone who can give you what you need," and he gently touched your elbow, forcing you to face him fully. The look of confusion must have been evident on your face because he continued, not letting your arm go, "Tonight it was made clear that you are not his girlfriend. The lack of hardware on your finger means that the two of you didn't elope in Atlantic City on the way here."

"So? We're…" and you didn't know how to finish that sentence.

"You're… what? Friends with benefits? This isn't fucking high school, doll."

"No, I know this isn't fucking high school, Bucky," you seethed, the frustration rising rapidly within you, "We have an arrangement. It's complicated, you have no idea."

"I don't think it is that complicated, I just think you don't want to face it," he pushed, letting his fingers softly slide down your arm. All those flirty feelings you thought you had for Bucky were dissolving just as quickly as your buzz. His eyes caught yours in the dim light and the bright warmth that used to be in them faded to cool steel.

Slowly, you pulled your arm away, letting it hang by your side as you turned back towards the party, "I'm not a fucking prostitute."

"No? You're not sleeping with him for money? My mistake, I should have come by your hotel, what, a half-hour later?" he started.

"Fuck off."

"But to be clear, you are being paid to make him look good, right?" he interrupted, "Then you're a sugarbaby. Steve pays for your clothes and the trip and in exchange, you hang on his arm and word."

"I'm not a sugarbaby, or a golddigger, or whatever the fuck you think it is! It's different, there's more to it than just money! I don't even want the money!" you argued, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. The last half hour or so had been nearly too much for you to handle anymore. Was this Bucky's plan this whole time, to rub salt in the wound that was Steve and your relationship, or lack thereof? What did he get out of all of this by cutting you down?

"Call it what you want, sweetheart," he dismissed, taking a swig from his bottle of beer before continuing, "But know that someday that paycheck will be too high for you to deny it anymore. This isn't Pretty Woman, he's not going to fall for you, and everyone has a price. Including you."

You clenched your jaw, your lips in a thin line, and your fingers gently played over the bright gemstone of your necklace. He was wrong, Bucky was wrong. He didn't know shit about you and Steve. For fuck's sake, he didn't even have a girl. You knew things with Steve were different, _felt _it. In one swallow you finished your drink and left the glass on the bar, giving Bucky the finger as you walked away from him and joined Steve at the table.

"Still want your good luck charm?" You purred in his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body into his side.

"Of course, always," he murmured back, pressing his lips to yours, a deep kiss that meant more to you than you wanted to admit.


	8. Chapter 8 - If

A/N: Seriously, reviews are incredible and let me know that you want more of this! Thanks for reading!

The room was dim, dark even, but you could still see perfectly. It was the hotel room in New York, you would recognize the four-poster bed anywhere. But you weren't on it, you were sitting comfortably, well, semi uncomfortably, on a deep black-stained mahogany chair. The same ones that Steve had in his dining room back at his house. Slowly you were becoming aware of your exposure: heels, simple black pumps, stockings up to your thighs, garters running up to your hips, black satin panties, all of it tied up tight in a black satin corset. You tried to crane your neck to look around but the thick, heavy leather weighed against your throat. You tried to move your hands up to feel it but found that impossible. They were bound to your sides, a spreader bar cuffed between them and running along behind the back of the chair.

You should be panicked. You should be completely terrified, especially because you couldn't remember how or why you got here. But for some reason, you weren't. The adrenaline that was running through your veins had nothing to do with fear.

"Bucky told me all about what happened last night," Steve's voice came from the shadows, the tone sultry but edging on threatening. Just hearing him lit the spark inside of you, the deep breath you took forcing your cleavage to spill over the top of the corset. What had happened last night? Drinks, dancing, a good luck kiss.

Steve finally emerged from the shadow, the same jeans as the day before, still slung low on his hips, waistband of his boxers curiously absent. He looked as if he had just come from the gym, every muscle cut, just a little more defined than usual, a very thin sheen of sweat allowing what little light there was to reflect off each peak. The blue of his eyes was dark, much darker than you had ever seen before. He crossed the room in only a few steps, standing just beyond you, the heat radiating off of his body. The tip of his tongue raked along his bottom lip as his eyes took you in and you felt like you might as well have been naked. Your outfit didn't leave much up to the imagination anyway. You squirmed a little in your seat, the sight of him being enough to start a throbbing deep within your core.

"He told me how you took him to the hotel across the street," and his hand gently cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb grazing across your softly parted lips, "How you took him in that pretty pink mouth of yours," and his hand moved gently down until it found the leather collar around your neck. Suddenly, he gripped it with all his strength, pulling up and forcing you to stand with an audible gasp. The metal spreader bar fell coldly against the back of your bare thighs as he brought his lips dangerously close to your own, "How you let him finish on your tits."

This wasn't the Steve you were used to. This one was calculating, edging on cruel, but for all his dominance, you were nearly begging for more. For once in your life, you didn't have to think. You just had to do. And to feel. Through parted lips you breathed deeply, each breath making your bosom swell, a view that Steve seemed to enjoy very much. Looking up through your lashes, you caught his eyes and begged innocence, "Mr. Barnes lied."

Steve smirked in disbelief, allowing his hands to explore your breasts as much as was possible through the fabric. Your wrists tested the cuffs, itching to be let free to allow yourself the same indulgence, but the cold steel wouldn't budge. You let out a small whimper as your leaned into his touch, but as soon as you did, Steve pulled away.

"Such a needy slut," he murmured, "And why should I believe you over him? He's been my best friend for years." His fingertips went back to your skin, moving up your shoulder and around your neck to the back of your head, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shivered, your breath shallow, hanging on his every word and touch. Finally, he gripped a handful of your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to face up at him, "And you're just a whore who thought you could make me fall in love with you."

His growl ran through you and you shut your eyes tight, a small cry coming from deep within you. You knew he wouldn't really hurt you, that with just a word all of this could be over, but you didn't want it to be over. You loved him like this, so commanding, when his business and his personal mixed in the most deliciously wicked way. He smiled at your cry, his eyes twinkling in the darkness, and you knew you would do anything you could to please him.

"Please…" you begged, the words sounding so small as they died in your throat.

"Please, what?" he deadpanned, his hands curving around your hips to grip your ass. His fingers played so close to your neediest of places but stayed away just enough to tease.

"Please…" you tried as your squirmed, but his fingers stayed one step ahead of you, "Mr. Rogers… I'll do anything…"

The wicked smirk crawled across his lips once again and he let two of his fingers run along your slit. Instinctively your head fell to his shoulder, needing something, anything, to help you stay upright as the deepest moan ripped through you. Just the slightest touch from him was enough to set you off entirely, you were that far gone for him.

"It's a good thing I like my sluts needy," he taunted, bringing the two fingers up and sticking them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on him. Your tongue swirled around his fingers, cleaning every last drop off of him. He seemed to enjoy it as he bit his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving your mouth as you worked, "Is that how you sucked off Bucky?"

"I…" you started to protest but he stuck his fingers further in, gagging you.

"I didn't ask for an answer," he growled as he removed his fingers from your mouth before hooking them under the collar and pulling you down, "On your fucking knees, whore."

Your knees hit the cool wooden floor with a hollow thunk and you knew there would be bruises tomorrow, but it didn't matter. His hips were now mere inches away from your face, your eyes being able to follow every tiny vein down from his navel as they disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Every nerve ending inside of you was on fire. You wanted to please him so badly, wanted to make him happy, wanted him to call you his good girl again. You wanted to be his and only his.

"I want you to swallow every. Fucking. Drop."

Your eyes were on his as his fingers went for the button on his jeans, your mouth watering in anticipation and excitement coursing through your veins. Your hands fought weakly against your restraints, knowing that they wouldn't be let free to roam where you wanted, to be able to unwrap him on your own. But as the zipper fell lower, you thanked the fucking lord that Steve had chosen you.

And suddenly, you weren't on your knees. You weren't on the floor at all. The cloud lifted from your brain as each of your senses were forced to take immediate stock of your surroundings. Sun, not darkness. Bed, not hardwood. Comfortable satin pajamas, not tight corsets that made your tits look incredible.

It was a fucking dream.

Your body tightened back into the fetal position, a groan coming from deep within you as you squeezed your eyes shut from the world. Your brain tried desperately to grasp at the scene it had created just moments before, so real. You could actually feel the heat radiating off of him, his fingers on your face as he forced you to look at him. It was no use though. That dominating dream Steve was lost.

You let your body relax again, deeply sighing and waiting for the start of the routine. For Steve to realize you were awake, for his arm to snake quietly around your waist, for him to pull your body to his and dust your neck and shoulders with small butterfly kisses. You needed his touch this morning, a reassurance that this was something more, that you were something more.

But after a few moments, it didn't come.

Rolling over onto your back, you found the bed empty next to you. The sheets were barely still warm, he had been up for a while, and your heart sank. Could you please go back to 24 hours before? When your biggest anxiety was calling off work? God, everything had just gotten so fucked up. Your expectations exceeded the reality of it all and now you needed to reset them again. And it fucking pissed you off that it needed to happen at all. What you had before was good, fun. But now it had gone too far. The fact of the matter was that Steve had hurt you yesterday. But the fight with Bucky had managed to make your hurt feelings from Steve look trivial in comparison. You knew you weren't wrong with either of them, but the whole situation annoyed you to no end. There were no winners in this fight.

You weren't a prostitute. And you couldn't sleep with Steve unless you got something more from him, a deeper commitment than just contractual obligations. You wouldn't allow Bucky to be right.

There was no use in putting it off any longer so you sighed and pulled yourself out of bed, walking into the slippers but forgoing the robe. It didn't really matter anyway, there wasn't much left to hide.

Steve had taken a seat on the couch, opting to wear his robe over his sweatpants, room service breakfast laid out neatly on the cart to the side. He was engrossed in the Sunday New York Times, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. The morning stubble was starting to come in and he held the top of a pen between his teeth, every once in awhile underlining something he found of note. Your heart warmed at the sight, wanting so badly to crawl up and snuggle him. He was soft on Sunday mornings. You hoped you got to see more.

"You know, you don't have to stand in the doorway," he murmured, not looking away from his paper, "Come, sit, have some breakfast. I got you avocado toast."

It was so millennial but it was true, you did love avocado toast. Going over to the breakfast cart, you poured yourself a glass of orange juice and found the plate of the promised dish, taking a seat in the middle of the couch. How could someone be so close and yet feel so far away? He wasn't straight up ignoring you, but he wasn't welcoming your presence either. Silently, you ate your toast, wishing you had remembered your phone that was in the other room if to not feel so awkward.

"So," he started after a few moments, finally folding up the business section and setting it on the coffee table, his glasses gently tossed on top, "About last night. You ready to talk about it?"

No, not really. You didn't really want to talk about it because then all the freshly salted wounds from last night would reopen. You wanted to ignore it, pretend it didn't happen, pretend you didn't see this arrangement from a completely different point of view now. But some things couldn't be unseen. So you nodded softly, filling your lack of voice with a sip of orange juice.

"And no bullshit. You know I'll know," he finished and when you nodded, he sat back, relaxing. His body language changed from stern and guarded to open and reasonable and you had to take a breath.

"I know we have an arrangement," you started softly, finding your courage as you spoke, not really being able to look anywhere but the wall behind him, "And you made that arrangement very clear when you proposed it. But what you said to Ton- to Mr. Stark- about me last night hurt. And I know…"

"I know," he interrupted softly, a gentle hand raised to stop you, "I know it hurt and I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to imply that you were…"

"Because you know I'm not doing this for the money, right? I'm doing this because I like spending time with you," you interrupted and a slight blush rose up to his cheeks. The two of you could barely finish a thought, both of you talking over and needing to get everything out of your brain as fast as possible before the other one fucked it all up again. He let the smallest of smirks crawl over his lips and the words hung in the air for a moment.

"I've gotten very used to having you around a lot and my days are certainly much nicer when I wake up with you," he admitted softly, pulling a hand through his messy hair before continuing, "But I do think we need to get back to the core of the arrangement. I'm sorry but I can't have a girlfriend."

This was more or less how you had expected this conversation to go, although you had prepared yourself to deal with a much harder, angrier Steve. Then again, you hadn't told him what Bucky had said to you, and you weren't planning on it. So when you said that you agreed with him, his confused face threw you off a bit.

"You agree?"

"Yes, I do. I think we need to get back to the core of the arrangement," you responded; this bit of confidence that was surging within you would either ruin everything or take back the respect you deserve, "And part of that arrangement was sex, Steve. You had said that we didn't have to go any further than we already had, which at that time was just a few kisses. Good kisses, dream kisses, but still just kissing. Now we are way fucking past that and not exactly discreet about it."

The look on his face said it all. Unamused. He barely blinked as his eyes studied you, his jaw clenching underneath the scruff, but for once you didn't feel microscopic. You held his gaze, refusing to be the first to break. This was bigger than hurt feelings.

"So, you don't want me to make you cum anymore…"

You let out an exasperated sigh, anger starting to build within you once again, "That's not the point…"

His face scrunched up in frustration, "Jesus, I know what the point is…"

"The point is that we can't be doing those things if I'm not your girlfriend," you countered pointedly, forcing him to shut up and actually listen to you, "Everything gets way too complicated and messy once orgasms start getting involved and then we end up having to have a morning-after conversation on a hotel room couch. If you want to keep this strictly business, we can, but then there has to be a hard boundary. And for me, it's that."

He considered your demand, chewing absentmindedly on his bottom lip. You were sticking to your guns on this one and it scared you a bit, even though you knew it needed to be done to avoid more ruined nights out. To some girls, the word 'girlfriend' was only a title, meaningless and ill-fitting for actual situation. But to you, it added a layer of legitimacy to the whole thing and without it, you weren't going to keep letting him do the things he was doing to you. You had to know where you stood with him. Were you an employee or something more? As much as it pained you, this agreement had to be black and white. No more room for misinterpretations. No more hurt feelings.

"Let me get this clear, you get my money and no sex at all. Remind me, what am I getting out of all of this again?" he asked, squeezing his eyes shut before rubbing them.

"You get me, a girl who actually doesn't mind hanging out with you all day, who looks damn hot at night, who will hang on your arm and talk you up to all the old white-haired millionaires who have no idea what the fuck to do with all that money. And no, I won't be your girlfriend, which I've heard actually helps you out," you pulled, wondering if that would be enough for him now that you said it out loud. All you really had to offer him was your charming and winning personality… Which probably meant that once you got back to Chicago you weren't going to see him again.

Steve narrowed his eyes at you for a moment before sighing, a shrug and a small smile on his face, "Well damn, when you put it that way, I get all that? What a bargain."

You knew he was being facetious but you still inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. This felt like a victory, a small bit of power being taken back for yourself. You had stood up to Steve Rogers and won, and you didn't come out of it with only one arm. The truth was you didn't want to lose Steve as a friend. He wasn't the only one who had gotten used to you being around.

You stood from the couch, stretching a bit before bending over and gathering up the dishes to place outside the door. Suddenly, firm hands were gripped to you hips, pulling you back and turning you to straddle Steve's lap. You let out a surprised shriek and placed your arms on his shoulders for stability, his lips crushing your own with a bruising force. It was a violent kiss for so early in the morning, his scruff tickling your chin, but it was exactly what you needed after the high of the dream and the low of the fight. He snaked his hands down, cupping your ass, and he seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss when you let our a small sigh against his lips. Your fingertips pushed past the loose terry cloth robe, exploring the rock-hard muscles on his chest, finally getting the pleasure they were denied by your mind.

"And to be clear," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and husky, "If you were my girlfriend, you would let me eat your pussy every morning?"

God, even just the mention of him eating you out again started a throbbing in your core and made your head cloudy. No, you had made a rational and level-headed decision and you needed to stick to it.

"And I think you've been wondering how I would feel…" and he pulled your hips closer to his own, his sweatpants doing little to hide his growing excitement, "And I'm dying to feel how tight you are, to see the look on your face as you stretch to take all of me."

His hands roamed up, gliding over your thighs and hips, still staying over your tank top but cupping each breast, teasing the bud to hardness with the pads of his thumbs. Your back arched into his touch, flashes of the dream playing in your mind, and yet this was even better because it was real. He seethed a bit as your manicured nails scraped down his bare chest, just hard enough to leave pink trails in their wake, and your hips moved against his own, you body betraying you entirely. Grinding on him wasn't really sex, right?

"And I would make sure that you were satisfied every day and night, fucking you exactly the way you deserve until your body and mind were entirely spent. You would let me do that to you if you were my girlfriend?" he asked, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip. Your mind reeled, knowing from the past two days that this wasn't just Steve talking a big game, he could deliver on that promise.

"Yes," you finally breathed, your nerve endings screaming out at you to leave that stupid rule you made up behind. Who the fuck cared what Bucky, or Ashley, or anyone else thought about it?

He smirked against your lips, capturing them once again before taking his hands off you entirely. "Good to know."

It took a few moments for your brain to completely register what had happened, but Steve wasn't kissing you anymore. He wasn't even touching you and his eyes flicked up to meet your own, that calculated firmness behind them. All at once the warm, buzzy feelings that had been building up inside of you drained, your smile going with it. What a fucking asshole. He had done that on purpose, brought you right to the edge of your decision and then made you face it, question it, almost give it up. If Bucky had ruined your orgasm the other day, Steve was full-on denying it. Slowly you climbed off of his lap, his jaw clenching at the loss of warmth, and you wished you had your robe to hide behind.

"Don't think you can pull power trips against me again," he said plainly after sipping his coffee and your stomach dropped. He was punishing you for closing the loopholes he designed in the agreement and you were starkly reminded who actually had the power in this relationship. "Now go, get dressed. We need to get going soon."

"You know, I'm not doing anything wrong," you maintained, making your way back over to the door to the bedroom.

"You let your feelings for me cloud your perception of our arrangement," he declared, his eyes catching yours again, an edge of anger in his tone.

"_My feelings_ got clouded?" you snapped, his oblivion towards the undeniable truth of the matter pissing you off more than this game he played, "I don't think it was my feelings that got clouded, Steve. I wasn't the one who woke you up with a handjob and played with you while you were on an important phone call. You brought this upon yourself."

Your words must have hit a nerve in him because after a few minutes to cool down, he came in and apologized for all of it; for Tony's, for taking advantage of you and your position, for disrespecting your decision. The fight seemed to shake him, like he was genuinely afraid of losing you, and you had to admit that you were scared too. It wasn't that you were worried about losing the money, after all, you still had a job to go back to in Chicago. But did you want to go back to it, really? Could you, after having a taste of this life? You never wanted to think of yourself as the type who would be content being a "kept woman," but it was nice to not have to worry about bills, sleeping through your alarm or if you were going to be late if the L was delayed. And you knew yourself well enough that you couldn't be a kept woman forever, you would want to work, but to have the freedom to work wherever or however you wanted was a luxury that only money could really buy. And when it came down to it, you knew you were incredibly lucky that it was Steve who had chosen you. You had been witness to enough harsh men at Tony's party to know that Steve was different than all of them. The fight notwithstanding, he did respect you, enjoyed your company, even admitted that he liked you. He found you interesting, played along with your jokes, and never missed an opportunity to compliment you. And you liked him, you liked the rush it gave you when the old men looked jealous of him, when you watched him work and talk through a deal, when he insisted on listening when you told him about your day. The lifestyle was a bonus, but the thing you were most afraid of losing was Steve. It was a comfort to be held in his arms again, your cheek resting on his shoulder, his lips pressing kisses to your neck.

A couple of hours later, the two of you were back on his plane, you settled into your seat with a fluffy blanket, episodes of Queer Eyes queued up, and a slice of Steve's favorite pizza from Brooklyn ready to go. He was sat next to you, checking emails between sips of his beer when a very distinctive "fuck" came from under his breath.

"Everything okay?" you asked tentatively as your brain started going to the worst-case scenarios without any prompting. Did something get out about Tony's party? Was everything okay with Thomas? Did the luggage not get onto the plane even though you watched it get loaded?

"Yeah, it's fine. Just… short notice," he sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. He only did that when he was stressed.

"Short notice for what?"

Steve sat back in his seat, switching from his email to his calendar on his phone, "An event. Big one, I really can't miss it. It's not this Wednesday but next, and we'll have to leave Sunday evening," he counted backward the days, immediately jumping back to his email, "And then the gallery opening on Friday. Thomas is going to be busy this week…"

Gallery opening? And another party beforehand? Steve was right, this was on short notice. Fishing your phone out of your bag, you pulled up your own calendar, scanning your work schedule. "I could maybe call off again, if I need to, but if I do then work is going to need a doctor's note soon. Unless these are in Chicago, then I get off work at 6 on Wednesday and if you don't mind being fashionably late…" His look of pity stopped you in your planning.

"Both of these events aren't in Chicago," he said softly and your heart sank, "They're in Europe, London and Berlin to be exact."

You heart sank even lower and you wanted to cry. Not so much about Berlin, although you had heard it was a very cool city, but London. As much as you loved and sang the praises of Chicago, you would leave it in the dust for a chance to live in London. It was your home, the one place in the world where it felt like your heart could beat true, where you knew you belonged. And here you were, finally getting a chance to go back and not have to do it on a student budget, and you knew you couldn't go because it was way too short of notice.

"I would love it if you could come," Steve started, a tenderness in his voice that seemed genuine, "But I just got this email now, and short of bribing a doctor to give you some illness that required short term disability, I understand that you won't be able to get out of work for a whole week."

He wasn't wrong. Calling off one day sucked enough for you, having to fake an illness wasn't something you knew you could pull off. And you had said right at the beginning that you weren't going to quit your job just to travel with Steve, and you meant that. But you didn't know London was on the table when you said it.

"Have you ever been?" you asked weakly.

"Berlin, yes. Buck and I were stationed there for a bit, but London, no. Never made it over," he explained and your heart was crying out, "Why? Have you?"

"Yeah, London," you said softly, trying to not feel disappointed, "I studied there in college. It's probably one of my favorite places."

Steve nodded gently and squeezed your hand in his own, "Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for us to go back."

But you couldn't shake the feeling that you wouldn't. There was this overwhelming feeling of ending that you just couldn't shake. There really wasn't any valid reason for it. Sure, you hadn't stayed at Steve's after the trip like you had expected, but that was okay. You missed your bed, and your things, and needed to make room in your tiny closet for another stupidly expensive dress and shoes. Steve had even texted you that Monday, asking how you slept and if you had any time this week to go for dinner. So it wasn't like things weren't okay, things were more than okay with you and Steve. But you knew something was off in your gut.

And it started when you woke up on Tuesday morning with a text from your bank:

Steve Rogers paid you.

$5,000

"New York"

In the middle of all the hurt feelings and the rush to get home, you had completely forgotten about being paid. Surely this had to be a mistake though, right? He pressed too many zeros or maybe it wasn't supposed to go to you. Quickly, you checked your bank app and there it was, right at the top, the pending transaction.

"It's too much," you shot back to him in a text, not really having time to get into an argument over the phone about money… again. You were already running late as it was and with no time to spare, you changed into your work clothes and rushed out the door, completely forgetting to pack a lunch.

The L was delayed, of course. On a beautiful, bright, sunshiny morning was when some asshole decided to try and walk the tracks, bringing the entire Red Line to a halt just south of Belmont during rush hour. This morning was already turning into the worst day and you said a silent prayer that Matt wasn't your opening Lead or else you would never hear the end of being late again.

Your phone vibrated in your hand, the other one grasping to the pole so you didn't fall over once the train started moving again.

"It's not," Steve's voice came from the small receiver.

"It's ridiculous, Steve. The dress is already too much," you tried.

"It's not and I'm not going to have this conversation with you again," he interrupted, his voice more tired and irritated than actually angry, "We have an arrangement and this is part of it. Or, would you rather revisit the terms of our agreement again?" You stayed silent, not really wanting to take a trip back to Sunday morning. "Where are you anyway?"

"On the Red Line, waiting for whoever decided to climb onto the tracks to get off of them," you explained, more annoyed at the situation than Steve, "What are you doing?"

"I was lifting weights. Taking a couple of minutes before I do some ab work," he explained nonchalantly and you mind reeled, just imagining him working out and knowing that it wouldn't be you who got to enjoy the fruits of his labor. "Do you want me to send Thomas to come get you?"

"No, it's not worth it. By the time he gets to me and then fights traffic in the Loop the train will be moving again," you sighed, really wishing you could get off and just Uber the rest of the way, "Are you getting ready for your trip today?" It pained you to bring it up, but you didn't want him to know that. He would only be gone for a week and only most of that would be spent in your favorite city. It was fine. Totally fine.

"Yeah, I have an investor meeting tomorrow that I need to prep for today. Bucky's remoting in to present and he wants to run his report by me before giving it, so we get to do that today. Very exciting stuff," he laid out, his voice coming in puffs now. He had started on his abs.

"Oh, well, I'm on the floor today so text if you need a distraction," you offered just as the train started moving again with a jolt, "Talk to you later."

"Have a good day at work, my lovely Genius," he finished and you couldn't help the grin that crawled across your lips. You would never ever get used to being called his in any capacity.

Running into work, you made it in 20 minutes late, but so did a few other people who backed up your claim that the world was full of idiots, so even though Matt wasn't happy, he couldn't hold it over you. You used to love coming into work, seeing your coworkers and actually helping customers. You used to feel like you belonged, like these were your people. Not so much anymore. It wasn't that you didn't belong, after all, you were still an overexcited nerd surrounded by other overexcited nerds, but there was an 'otherness' to you now. A whole slice of your life that was growing by the day that had to be hidden. It was incredibly isolating. It made this world pretty lonely.

Cracked screens, batteries, cable swaps. At least the Express queue made you look productive. Your heart wasn't in it and your mind barely was. It kept drifting back and forth between remembering New York (and how wonderful it was before Bucky) and wondering what Steve would do with a whole week alone. He was a big boy, he had traveled by himself before you had come along, but he readily admitted that he had a hard time pulling himself away from work if someone wasn't around. You hoped that he at least spent a little time exploring the cities, living life like a semi-normal person rather than just holed up in one penthouse or another, writing up contracts.

"Hey, are you heading to lunch?" Shawn asked as you went to your locker for your bag. He was a bit older, mid-40's or so, but he shaved his head bald. It was a good look for him, and he was pretty trim and built. Not like Steve or Bucky, but you could tell that he took care of himself. He usually wore the biggest smile in the store, but right now his face was unreadable.

"Yeah, just punched out," you responded, a little confused. Shawn was kind and a good store leader, but he usually didn't need to bother himself with the day to day of individual employees.

"Can you come into the office for a second? It shouldn't take long," he asked, inviting you into the manager's office. With a small nod, you closed your locker and stepped into the office, Shawn closing the door behind you and offering you a seat. Matt was already sitting on the desk and for some reason, your stomach turned.

"Um…" and Shawn took a seat across from you, tenting his fingers between his knees, "I have to ask you a question I never thought I would have to ask you." He looked almost afraid, nervous about talking with you.

"We have reason to believe that when you called out on Saturday, you weren't sick," Matt interrupted a little too enthusiastically. Shawn's eyes flicked to him with annoyance, probably preferring to be a bit more delicate about the matter. You tried to keep your face as plain as possible, settling on polite confusion. It seemed to be a good default for now.

"I don't understand…" you murmured slowly.

"You showed up on Snapchat, on the map, in New York," Matt filled in for you and even brought up a screenshot. There you were, well, your bitmoji, standing on the east coast, nowhere near Chicago. Fucking location apps. But the thing of it all was that Matt didn't follow you on Snapchat, so he must have gotten that screenshot from someone else…

"And," Shawn now interrupted, taking back authority from Matt, "More pressingly, have you been helping customers outside of work?"

And right then is when you knew. Ashley. The fucking asshole had ratted you out. She had been livid for what Steve had said to her when he came in, bitching to anyone who would listen about how rude this customer was to her. And it didn't take a genius to put together who he meant when he said he had a friend come over to fix the issue. She had witnessed the FaceTime call, she knew that you and Steve were seeing each other, and she followed you on Snapchat. Your mouth fell open slightly and you closed it again, knowing you couldn't lie about this. Maybe if you were truthful, Shawn would show you mercy.

"...I helped one customer once with wifi issues on my day off, but it wasn't like I fixed a cracked screen or repaired anything," you tried to explain desperately, panic rising up in your throat, "He's a friend, I didn't think it would be a big deal.

Shawn squeezed his eyes in disappointment and you felt your hands start to shake from anxiety, "Jesus, I was hoping it wasn't true…"

"He asked, I felt bad for him, there wasn't anything wrong with his computer, all I did was move his modem," you spouted off rapid-fire. You didn't do anything wrong, you didn't use parts or even a work diagnostic computer. But, fuck, you couldn't even say he didn't pay you, because he did, and anyone who paid any attention to you the next day while you were in the break room saw the money. It was more than a favor, it was work.

"You know the rules," Shawn sighed, sitting back in his chair, "I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, assume positive intent, but combined with calling off and your consistent tardiness lately, I don't really have much of a choice…"

"Please," you begged softly, unshed tears burning your eyes.

"I have to let you go, effective immediately," Shawn finished, looking up at you sadly, "I'm sorry. You can take your time, say bye if you wish. I know I'll miss you."

It all fell on deaf ears though. You were numb. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your whole brain both running at the speed of light and dead at the same time. You wouldn't cry, you fucking refused to cry in front of Matt. Instead, you just took the deepest breath, stood from your chair, and said, "Thank you. I'll miss you guys too."

In an instant you were out of that office, grabbing your bag and taking the stairs two at a time until you got into the repair room, only wanting to say goodbye to one person.

"Megan, Noor, you guys going on lunch soon?" you asked them and when they both nodded, you continued, "Great, punch out and get your stuff. I'm buying and I need a fucking drink."

"What the hell…?" Ashley had the balls to utter and your head snapped around so fast you swore you heard it crack.

"_Are you fucking kidding me?_" you snapped at her, not bothering to keep your volume down, "You couldn't keep your goddamn gossipy mouth shut, could you?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you got caught in a lie. You should have turned your map off if you didn't want anyone to see where you were," she defended, standing from her seat at the Admin desk. You wanted to staple her mouth shut, punch her in her less than perfect teeth, anything to not have to hear her shrill fucked-up voice ever again. Nothing she could say or do could make it better.

"You couldn't possibly fucking stand that someone had something that you wanted, that they wouldn't share with you because it was NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, so you ran to Matt and told him that I was doing side work and guess what? YOU GOT ME FUCKING FIRED!" you exploded, "So are you happy now? All of this because you got pissed off that you couldn't help the hot guy. You're such a fucking bitch, Ashley, and now everyone at the bar knows it."

"Holy shit, you got fired?" murmured throughout the repair room; the news spread like wildfire and going out just as quickly.

The blood had drained out of her face, the thick artificial layer of her foundation in stark contrast to her pale skin. You were seething, the room silent save for the mechanical noises coming from the screen calibration machine. You didn't care who had heard at this point, none of it fucking mattered These weren't even your coworkers anymore. They were strangers.

"They fired you?" she asked in the smallest voice, disbelief on her face, "I complained a bit after what he said to me, but I didn't think they would fire you. I just thought you would get a verbal warning, maybe written up, but not fired."

"But you didn't fucking think, did you? It just felt really good to complain because you were angry and jealous," you said wearily, "Your talking has real consequences, Ashley. Keep your fucking mouth shut before you burn all of your peers."

She sat back in her seat, defeated, and you turned to address the room at large, "Those who have my number already, please use it. Those who don't, it's probably for a reason. I'll miss you guys."

It felt good to bitch Ashley out, especially in front of everyone, but as Sammy chased you out of the store to give you the best bear hug ever, the numbness subsided and gave way to hurt, real hurt. This wasn't just boys being dicks, this was your life, your career, and some of your best and most caring friends. It almost felt like being stabbed in the back and your lungs were slowly deflating.

"So what are you going to do now?" Noor asked as the two of you plus Megan crossed Michigan Avenue to go to the Billy Goat Tavern.

You took a deep breath, letting the warm summer air bring you back to life, and with a small smile, you said, "I'm going to London."


	9. Chapter 9 - Midnight City

**A/N:** _This chapter is pure COTTON CANDY. It's so fluffy it's ridiculous. I promise to get back to the drama, but they deserve a break, right? Thank you to everyone who reads and a super special shout-out to those who leave comments. I die when I get comments. Seriously, I'm writing this from the grave. You all are amazing. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!_

"You're fucking kidding, you did not say that to her," Steve retorted with a laugh. You were recounting your final dramatic exit for him as you sat at the island in his kitchen, both of you shuffling around bowls of poké, edamame, and gyoza.

"I did! I swear I did! I said that she's a fucking bitch and now everyone at the bar knows it," you laughed, reaching across him to take a piece of gyoza. After your dramatic exit, and then lunch drinks with the two girls who you could actually consider your friends, you had called Steve to let him know the news. He knew he was partially at fault for it all, at least you thought so. He had Thomas pick you up yesterday afternoon and you had spent most of last night either snuggling up to him or crying in his arms. You had never been fired from a job before, usually priding yourself on your work ethic and uncanny ability to endure most anything. It didn't really feel good.

His meeting was early in the morning in the city, so you missed him when you finally got up. It was almost eerie being in the house alone, padding around in bare feet and one of Steve's oversized sweaters, white cable knit with a few frayed bits. The morning cup of coffee on the deck provided its own contemplations. You were unemployed, officially. You did have some savings, some money coming in, but only as long as Steve still found you interesting enough to want you at the events. So now you couldn't even say you weren't doing it for the money. You supposed that part of Bucky's prediction had come true, not that you were okay with it.

It scared you a little bit how much your life had become entangled with Steve's. You didn't want to think that without him, you were nothing. After all, you were smart, you had a good head on your shoulders, you had prospects. You could get another IT role, one with weekends off most likely. You had friends, family, plenty to be proud of that you had done all on your own. You weren't nothing without him. But you didn't want to be without him. This house was too big without him, the lake too wide.

So when he came back with a huge smile and the perfect lunch, your heart warmed you from within. The view of him didn't hurt either, charcoal gray suit, pressed white shirt, gray and black striped tie. But there were little things, tiny details that hinted at his state of mind. His hair fell a bit flat from running his hands through it, a small scab on his bottom lip from where he had been chewing, his tie looser than normal for having come from a meeting with investors. However, when you asked how it went, he brushed it off, saying that it wasn't important, and changed the subject back to your classiest of dramatic exits.

"She just gave off such a weird, fake vibe to me," he confirmed, stealing a piece of tuna from your bowl. It didn't matter, you stole some salmon from his.

"That's because that's all she was. She would jump on the latest trend, claim to be whoever's biggest fan, and once she wasn't getting any attention from that, she would drop it for the next thing. In all the years I worked with her, I don't think I know one genuine thing about her," you finished.

"Well, now you are rid of her once and for all," he said with a wide smile which you just didn't have in you to mirror. It dropped from his lips as soon as he recognized your dejection and he sighed, bringing a hand to cup your cheek, "I know you would have rather it been your decision, or for it to not have happened the way it did, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit happy. You get to come to Europe now. You got out of a job that I know didn't challenge or thrill you anymore. Plus, you don't have to accidentally find weird porn on computers anymore, you can watch whatever it is that you're into in the comfort of my bedroom," he teased and you threw an edamame bean at him, hitting him in the forehead. Still, he managed to pull a smirk from within you.

"That is true. I was definitely over being a meat-shield between the company and customers," you sighed, "It's just weird for me, being fun-employed."

His blue eyes gazed over you, searching for something, but you weren't sure what. It wasn't pity, you didn't want his pity. It almost seemed to be a quiet understanding. He gently swept the hairs from your cheek, tucking them behind your ear, bringing his lips softly to yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest, your entire soul craving to just be held by him, to let him carry some of these heavy thoughts for awhile.

"I do like the sound of fun-employed," he murmured, "I have to finish some things up from the meeting, but how about you get your computer, get the black card from my wallet, and buy yourself something to wear on the plane ride? Does that sound fun?"

"Steve, I don't need you-" but he cut you off.

"Ah, no. No arguing, retail therapy works and it's my treat," he said and you pursed your lips together, trying to act annoyed. Truth was, it would be nice to wear something new, something that wasn't just your jeans and maybe a sweater, "We fly first class so pick something comfortable, but polished." You nodded, resisting to let your internal sigh come out and risk more insistence. He captured your lips once more as you slipped down from the high chair, tugging on the back of his sweater a bit as you walked away to get a peek at your ass. Pervert.

You practically skipped up the stairs towards the bedroom, the echo of his words rattling around your brain. You had said "fun-employment" in sarcasm, but Steve had turned it into a promise. Why shouldn't this be fun? It wasn't like you weren't going to ever get a job again, you knew yourself too well for that. You had a bit of a cushion, a blessing really, and you could afford to let yourself enjoy the way life was going for you at the moment. Back to that whole Lean In sentiment that you told yourself to buy into way back when. Just lean in, this wasn't going to last forever.

Grabbing your computer from your bag, you made your way back down, finding his leather wallet next to his keys on the new sideboard he set next to the front door. Picking up the wallet, you couldn't help but let your eyes fall on the stack of papers it was settled on:

_Based on his failure to secure any new contracts in the last month, the investors gave a vote of NO CONFIDENCE in Mr. Rogers' domestic holdings. Mr. Rogers cites that Stark Industries have saturated the domestic market and used connections with Colonel James Rhodes to sell to the United States directly, breaking the terms of Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers' contract. The investors call for a full investigation into the contract and are pursuant to legal action._

_The Investors gave a vote of CONFIDENCE in Mr. Barnes' international holdings on behalf of Mr. Rogers, showing promising meetings in Romania, Sokovia, and Turkey. Mr. Barnes is expected to have contracts signed while in Berlin._

That explained the unusual disheveled look he had, the exhaustion behind his eyes, the scab you had felt with your own lips. A vote of no confidence from his investors? That must have killed Steve, and all because Tony was an asshole and broke the contract. Why would Tony do that? Steve had nothing but good things to say about him and despite the obvious ego on the guy, he seemed relatively harmless. Well, as harmless as a weapons manufacturer could be. And when did all of this happen? You could hardly believe that Tony would have invited the guy to his party just to stab him in the back, so Tony's hand must have been forced sometime in the past few days.

Or, he was getting back at Steve for bringing you to the party, going against Tony's orders.

That thought burst your bubble inside. You never wanted to put Steve's hard work in jeopardy. You slipped the black card back into his wallet. It wouldn't be right to needlessly spend his money, even if he insisted. No, you could buy a new outfit on your own.

But you still didn't expect the full-on sunglasses tilted down look you received from Steve as he picked you up from your apartment on Sunday. His eyes peeked over the top of his rims as you dragged your suitcase behind you, making the sidewalk your runway before unlocking the gate.

"You look like Alexis Rose," he said.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," you beamed, pulling your hand up to your chest as she did. You had treated yourself to a head to toe look: a light gray belted wrap cardigan with a white silk camisole underneath, fitted black leggings with white stripe detail down the outer leg, blue ankle strap heels, your hair perfectly curled into soft waves, and fresh, pretty makeup. Well, Alexis didn't wear pants pretty much ever, but the spirit was still there, "The only way that could have been better is if you said I looked like Moira."

With that he finally cracked a wide smile, giving you a kiss as Thomas packed your luggage in the trunk. "What I meant is that you look like you belong in First Class." He had opted for dark wash jeans, a black blazer, and a royal blue henley underneath, buttons undone of course.

"I'm glad I could play the part, being that I've only ever looked longingly at the fully flat beds as I shuffled into the cattle car known as coach," you retorted, slipping into the back seat you had now become so accustomed to.

He laughed darkly, turning to face you, "Yeah, sorry, but I'm definitely going to ruin you this trip."

His wording sent your mind reeling. You knew what he meant, that once you fly First you'll never be okay with flying coach again. But the way he said it, that he was going to ruin you, made you feel like he was going to ruin you for any other man. And dear lord you wanted him to. If there was any sort of balanced and just universe, getting fired from your job would directly guarantee that you would come back to the States as Steve's girlfriend… and thoroughly ruined, please. It was only fair at this point.

"Oh, please, after traveling as a student, we could stay at a Holiday Inn and it would feel like the Four Seasons to me," you scoffed, doing your best to kick your hormones out.

He smiled a bit, resting his arm across your shoulders as Thomas took off towards the airport, "No, none of that. I want you to enjoy yourself on this trip, relax and leave all the drama of the past week here. Yes, there will be a little bit of work, but the first few days will be our own little vacation." You let yourself enjoy the feel of his arm around you again, leaning back so your head rested on his shoulder.

A vacation. A little getaway for just the two of you, clearing your mind and looking forward to coming back new. Even the thought of it felt like paradise. You were so looking forward to a week where your biggest worry was if your nails were going to chip.

First class didn't hurt to get you into that mindset either. You and Steve were sat together, the two of your spaces forming a pod of sorts once the seats were down. Apparently, in First, they let you order food and drinks whenever you want. They give you pajamas and a skincare regime. They allow you to get some actual sleep and wake you up with a mimosa. And so when you finally did land in London, you actually felt like a person and not a deranged cow. A slightly tipsy person, but a person nonetheless.

Steve was watching you, you could feel his eyes on you again, but you didn't care. The hustle and bustle of Heathrow made your heart pound, the welcome murals with Beefeaters making it sing. You were able to breeze past Immigration and before you knew it, Terminal 5 opened up to you.

You practically bounced on your feet with excitement, taking Steve's hand and dragging him over to your first must have: Percy Pigs.

"Percy pigs?" he asked as you stood in front of the kiosk, picking different varieties.

"Yes, Percy pigs. The best candy in the world," you hardly explained, grabbing three bags of the normal kind and a bag of piggy tails just to start with. Knowing yourself, those would be gone in a day or two, "Only found at Marks and Spencer. They're little gummy pig faces that taste like strawberry sort of. There are all different types, too. The pig tails have a fizzy candy on them that's a little sour. I love these so much," and you beamed up at him. Even if he didn't understand, you didn't care.

"Ah, I suppose I should remember that," he remarked dryly as you paid for them, stuffing the bags in your purse, but not before opening one and biting the ear off of a pig.

"It may serve you well in the future," you threw back with a wide smile, offering him candy as the two of you walked towards the exit. He took it with a tentative look, nibbling on the ear a little before deciding that he liked it and popping the whole thing in his mouth.

The two of you found the driver by the sign he was holding with Steve's name on it and he led you out of the terminal and into a waiting pewter gray Jaguar. Of course, you wouldn't be taking the Tube, why would Steve ever take public transportation? Still, the thought of being able to sit comfortably for the trek across London was one that you didn't often get to entertain, so you weren't going to complain.

As the car made its way around Heathrow and onto the M4, you ventured to roll down the window slightly. It was a gorgeous sunny day, never too hot, and not a cloud in the sky. God, even the air smelled different. Not dirty, like New York, or even slightly like wet trash like Chicago. It smelled old, in the best way possible. It smelled like home. You were itching to do so much at once. You wanted desperately to go shopping, to go eat, to go sit in St. Pancras and people watch. You wanted to play tour guide and yet be given a tour. You wanted to just chill and act cool, like none of this was a big deal. You wanted to watch Gogglebox. You wanted to show Steve who you were, who this city brought out from within you. You wanted to see who he was.

"You look different," his voice softly broke through your thoughts and you realized he had been watching you again.

"It's the five hours of sleep. It'll probably catch up to me soon," you excused, trying to not feel embarrassed by his observance.

"No, it's something else," he retorted gently, his eyes searching you softly like he was trying to see beyond the physical, "You look happy. Not like happy because of a joke or anything so superficial, happiness from within. Like your soul has settled." Gently, he laced his fingers with your own, bringing the back of your hand to press against his lips, "It's a good look on you."

Your eyes followed your entwined fingers up his arm, across his shoulder and face until they met the bright blue of his own, clear and true. It felt as though your heart was being laid bare, like he had taken down your protection brick by brick. You felt vulnerable but not afraid because it was Steve who was doing it. You wanted him to keep going, to keep pulling all of you down, not to hurt or expose, but to free this person you knew you were. This girl, this woman, whose very soul glowed. Because she was in love.

You pressed your lips to his own, cupping his face in your hands, needing him to know, needing him to hold tight to that happiness and never let go. He returned the kiss in kind, his hand tangling itself in your hair, his tongue begging for entrance. You could taste the malt whiskey on his lips he had tried to hide with a mint, his natural musk making your nerve endings wake up and pay the fuck attention. Since the conversation in New York, the two of you had been dancing around invisible eggshells, too nice, too timid, too vanilla. Pretending to just be friends was fun, but both of you knew that there were too many sparks flying to not catch fire. Steve was ruining you, just like he promised, and he pulled you into his lap, never breaking the kiss.

"You know," he murmured against your lips, his free hand tracing lazy circles on your thigh, "We could just go straight to the hotel… Spend the rest of the day in bed…" teasing kisses out of you between words, "Except when I'm fucking you against the wall, or the couch, or in the shower…"

Jesus fuck, you wanted to. You wanted this glow to get brighter, to keep going, to let him fully experience every part of you. You wanted to let him use you, to set your nerve endings ablaze, to wear you out only to fall into a delicious sleep. Your body was screaming at you, your core throbbing for attention, your most basic and primal instincts needing a satisfaction that only he could touch.

But the smallest, saddest, most logical part of your brain whispered _no. He wouldn't be making love to you. It wouldn't be what you really want and you know it._

You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes tight to push away the tears that were threatening to form, "We're not going to the hotel?"

He smirked, pulling back a bit and letting the cool air from the window come between the two of you. "Can't blame me for trying," he sighed, tucking some loose hair behind your ear, "No, we have some business to attend to. Fun business, but still business."

He continued to steal sugar sweet kisses from you as the houses and buildings got denser, a sure sign that the car was approaching central London. You were more than happy to oblige, letting your slightly sleep-deprived body rest against his, not really loving the mention of doing business. The last thing you wanted was to be stuck in a stuffy boardroom while he got something or other hashed out. Not to be that girl, but there were better= ways to spend your time than making small talk about bombs over Baghdad.

But as the car finally pulled off to the side, the distinctive green awnings came into view.

"Are we… going shopping?" you asked, your heart in your throat.

"Well, you do need two more dresses for this week so why not?" he confirmed, the driver opening the door for you to slide out.

Harrods stood in front of you in all its massive terra cotta glory. It was the finest department store in the world and there was only one, just off of Knightsbridge station. It took up an entire city block, had 18 restaurants in it, an Apple store, even Qatar Airlines had a luxury booking space. It was said that if you couldn't find it at Harrods, it didn't exist. They had once procured and sold a yacht. Steve better not fucking buy you a yacht.

A concierge led you inside, Steve taking your hand and winding through fine fragrances and cosmetics. There were sights and smells all over; the staunch classic British flair of Burberry being set off by the dark noir of Dior, the florals of Gucci, the Parisian romance of Lancome. Women tried on lipstick, sat in chairs getting their complimentary makeovers. Your head couldn't move fast enough, trying to take it all in while doing your best to walk like you belonged there.

Up the gilded escalators you went until the floor opened back up to those very same designers that had been downstairs, much less crowded as well. Except instead of makeup, each area was a full-on art directed display, setting the very specific theme each designer had chosen for the season. Only Miranda Presley would appreciate the detail. But even this wasn't just clothing, this was the Evening Wear department.

These were the dresses that had been seen on red carpets earlier in the year. This was where they went when Margot Robbie was done wearing them. These were far more serious dresses than the ones Steve had been picking out for you up until that moment. And if you needed dresses like these, then what the hell kinds of parties were you attending? The Met Gala?

"Hello, I'm Elizabeth and I'll be helping you today," a short, bright, deeply English woman greeted you, shaking both yours and Steve's hands, "May I offer you something to drink?"

"Wonderful to meet you, Elizabeth. I'm sure we are in fantastic hands," Steve said in kind with a smile, making the smaller woman blush a little. You knew it all too well, how women reacted to Steve when he was just being nice. Hell, you had been a victim to his charms yourself. "I'm sure the department received the arrangements in advance, I had my man Thomas send them on Wednesday. And yes, a coffee would be wonderful."

Elizabeth nodded with Steve's rattling instructions, someone behind her bringing her a green folder, and all eyes were on you, "Oh, um, could I get a vanilla latte? Or water is fine," you ordered. At once the assistants who had been standing at the ready moved like clockwork.

"Yes, your instructions were perfect, Mr. Rogers, and I think you're going to be quite happy with our choices. I've pre-selected three that I think best embodies the image you have in your mind, but the entire floor is at your disposal, of course," and she made a light sweeping motion with her hand. Before you knew it, one of the younger girls came back, wheeling a silver cart, loaded with two pots of what you hoped was coffee, cream, sugar, foamed milk, and a three-tiered platter of tea sandwiches and breakfast pastries. Your mouth watered at the site of a cucumber sandwich. You hadn't realized how hungry you were.

But before you could even lay a finger on any food, Elizabeth was dragging you away towards a dressing room, leaving Steve to sit in a comfortable leather chair with the cart next to him. Bastard. "What exactly were Mr. Rogers' instructions, if you don't mind me asking?" you inquired as soon as you knew you were out of his earshot.

"He gave us quite flexible instructions, truth be told. He said the dresses had to be long, formal length gowns but offered no guidance on cut, neckline, or even color, really only saying that they had to be 'elegant, eye-catching, and sexy'."

And sexy seemed to be emphasized. The first dress they put you in was guaranteed that. It wouldn't just turn heads, it would break necks. It was a bright red silk shift dress, a slight cowl neckline, and a completely open back that the thin straps zig-zagged across. But worst of all, it was _tight._ Tight was fine in a more forgiving fabric, but this one left little to nothing to the imagination.

"Wow," Steve breathed, half-way through taking a bite of a scone. You don't think you had ever seen his eyes so big before and you had to admit, his attention did give you a little boost in confidence.

"I wouldn't be able to eat, drink, or sit in this at all," you warned, afraid to look at all your angles in the mirror, "Plus, red? It's not really a great color on me."

"You wouldn't be able to wear panties either…" he thought out loud and you just rolled your eyes, "But, you're right. This isn't it," and he finished his bite, making your stomach growl.

The second dress went over much the same to the first, this one being nude in color. The lining was cut like a v-neck halter, falling to your mid-thigh, and it had an intricate mesh beaded overdress with a turquoise blue lace pattern throughout it.

"I look like a mermaid who got caught in a fishing line," you deadpanned.

"Mermaids are very in right now I'm told," he laughed.

"Well, whoever told you that is a fucking liar," you quipped, wanting so badly to take off your shoes and throw them at his smug smile. Your eyes scanned the displays around the floor, desperate to land on anything that seemed to fit his crap-ass instructions. Finally, they fell upon something so classic, so you, yet so unexpected for you and you knew instantly that that was one of the dresses.

With barely a second thought, you hiked up the netting and marched over to it, Elizabeth trailing behind and Steve's head-turning. It was a classical floor-length dress, a wrapped bodice with a slight gather at the hip, a long slit up the front. But what drew your eye to it was the color: gold.

"How many dresses do I need?" you asked, calling back to him, knowing full well the answer.

"Two. One for the event and one for the gallery opening," he answered, finally strolling over, hands in his pockets.

"Would this work?" you suggested, your fingers gliding over the smooth fabric, almost like liquid gold in your hands.

Steve studied it, an eyebrow raised, and you held your breath. It was so different from anything else you had worn or even looked at, but you just knew it in your bones that you needed to wear it. "Get it down," he instructed Elizabeth and the assistants went right to work, stripping it off the mannequin. A wide grin crawled across your lips and you pushed yourself up on your toes, planting a kiss on his scruffy cheek. "Now, can we please de-mermaid you and try on the last dress? I do need to get to a suit fitting upstairs and I'm sure you want to eat…"

Just as quickly as you marched over there, you ran back to the dressing room, Elizabeth chasing your train. "I hope you like this one, it sounds like Mr. Rogers is ready to finish," she remarked and you had to agree. You were ready to finish as well; your stomach was starting a revolution against itself, your feet were starting to kill, your whole body was crying from fatigue. All you wanted to do was to snuggle up to Steve and nap on his chest.

However, Elizabeth dutifully zipped you into the final dress and you had that feeling. That 'Say Yes to the Dress' feeling. That this is what you had been waiting for the whole time feeling. It was black, which beat out everything else for starters, a trumpet silhouette hugging your curves. A wide round neckline complimented the sheer netting, the whole bodice beaded with an impossibly intricate black and silver design, reminiscent of flames moving up your body to your bust. The same design flowed from your mid-thigh, what you could only describe as flame-drops strewn about the sheer skirt and falling down the slight train. It was incredibly sexy yet understated, making you feel like a literal goddess rising from the ashes. Or maybe you were just going to burn the place to the ground.

The look on his face said it all, words failing him. His mouth agape, his eyes roaming, taking in every centimeter of beadwork and the tiny bit of skin that peeked through the flames. You couldn't help turning for him, enjoying the attention and the feel of the tight weight against your skin. You let him get a full view that it was backless, turning your head over your shoulder, your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Must be pretty good if it's left you speechless," you started with a giggle.

"I just…" and he never really finished the sentence, instead taking a few steps forward and capturing your lips with his. It was full and needy, his hands cupping your cheeks and you sighed into the kiss, your fingers playing lightly over his chest. Sugar from the pastries dusted the corners on his lips. Your eyes held back tears of joy, your heart bursting with fullness. This day had already brought you to the brink twice and it was just past noon.

Pulling away slightly, he placed tiny kisses on your swollen bottom lip, looking down at you through long lashes, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the single tear that managed to escape.

"Umm…" he managed through a thick swallow and you couldn't help the giggle that rose up from within you, "We'll take it."

Elizabeth had you out of the dress in into your normal clothes faster than you ever thought possible and before you knew it, you were traveling up to the Menswear department. Now it was your turn to relax, sip coffee, and watch the fashion show. You settled into a brown high back leather chair, popping a cucumber sandwich in your mouth. For once in your life, it was good being you.

"Mine won't be as long, I promise," Steve remarked as he followed the gentleman into the fitting room, "I'm just getting tailored."

"Well, aren't you fancy," you shot back, a tired grin on your face. Sleep was starting to chase you down into a rabbit hole and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep yourself caffeinated. It was by far the worst thing about flying internationally; the jetlag.

Steve stepped around the corner a few minutes later wearing a fully black three-piece ensemble and a white silk dress shirt without a tie. Even though it wasn't fully fitted to him, the suit still gave the impression of authority. He stood in front of the three-way mirror, adjusting the jacket while the tailor went to work hemming the slacks. You watched with careful eyes as pieces of fabric were pinned and the suit became molded to his form: a little shorter in the sleeves, a little tighter around the ass. The jacket came off and he was left with the vest, the back widening to accommodate his broad shoulders.

"I think you should wear the black dress to this event and we'll save the gold one for Berlin," he affirmed and you nodded, taking a sip of your coffee. The gold one, while still completely eye-catching, was simpler, more subdued in a way and wouldn't pull focus away from the art, so it was a good plan. He turned back to the tailor, quietly asking him something that you couldn't hear, but then an assistant approached you while carrying fabric swatches. He didn't say anything and you didn't either, but you had a feeling that he was trying to match the fabric to your necklace. Either that or he was trying to look at your tits through your sweater. After a few awkward moments, he seemed to make a decision. Steve was too busy picking out cufflinks from a fine wooden box to notice.

You watched him as he made decisions, so easy and assured. The men moved around him in a silent symphony, Steve the conductor, and you couldn't help being in awe of it all. It was that assuredness, that boldness that he possessed that made you want to take the leap in the first place. What if you hadn't given him your phone number? Hell, what if you hadn't been randomly assigned his appointment in the queue? Where would you be right now if that hadn't happened? At work, faking empathy, living your gray life and getting by. But then he sat down and you hit start on the iPad and well, in this moment of catching his impossibly blue eyes in the mirror… that day had to be fate. The universe knew that you were sick of just getting by and all you needed to start living was for a tall, handsome stranger to take your hand. But when you gave him your phone number, never in your wildest dreams did you think it would ever lead to this. To this man, so smart and so confident in himself, choosing to be with you.

"What are you grinning about?" he asked, his lips turned up in a smirk.

You shook your head and sighed, pulling a hand through your hair, "I was just thinking about... luck, I guess." You didn't really want to come forward and admit that you were reminiscing about the spark you felt during your first conversation.

"Tell me, are you feeling lucky?" he asked, doing his best to resist sounding like a 1920's gangster.

You chuckled through your nose, letting a genuine smile crawl across your lips, "More than you could ever know."

By the time you got out of Harrods, both of you agreed that a nap was your highest priority. The car traveled right through the heart of London, through Green Park, past Picadilly Circus and it's bright LED signs, Chinatown where Sega World used to be. It was so different seeing the city you loved from the streets instead of from the Underground, popping up different places with little idea of which direction you were going. You always knew that this city was electricity in your veins, but now more than ever, you could feel it.

You were dying to see where you were staying and it didn't take very long for the car to pull through a gated arch, the flags above reading "Rosewood London." By the time the car got to the front entrance, a team of bellhops were waiting eagerly to show you to your room. One led you through the ornate lobby, decorated in rich, warm wood and contrasted with cool steel, creating a very refined but modern feel. Up the elevators you went, your fingers entwined with Steve's, your head on his shoulder. The bellhop slipped the keycard in the slot and held open the large oaken door, Steve insisting you step through first.

Immediately, this was the biggest hotel so far, and that was saying something after the room in New York. The door opened up to a large living room area with soft, rich gray plush couches and chairs, white walls, and a gray and white plaid carpet. The living room flowed into the bedroom that had the largest, most inviting bed you had ever seen, decked out in pristine white linens, and another small plush chair and table. To the right of the bedroom was the dressing room, each side with its own closet where both yours and Steve's luggage had been neatly unpacked and put away already, and through that was the magnificent marble bathroom, complete with a vanity.

"Does this mean I can get ready up here instead of downstairs?" you asked with excitement, unable to keep your fingers from running along the rich dark wood in the dressing room.

"Mmmm, I think we can do that," Steve confirmed, hanging up his blazer in his closet, "But let's worry about that after we get a few hours of sleep, okay?" You wholeheartedly agreed, wrapping your arms tight around his waist and pressing your face to his warm chest.

It wasn't long before the both of you were under the blankets, Steve in just his underwear because you stole his sweatpants. The familiar warmth of his body against your own, his steady, even breaths lulling you to sleep, your brain still not completely believing that you were here with him. And even in the vastness of the bed, the two of you still didn't travel far from each other, always staying within arms reach, always touching in some way.

And the only reason you woke up from that dream was because once you weren't physically exhausted anymore, your stomach started demanding attention. And by the sound of Steve's stomach, you weren't the only one.

'Fucking hell, jetlag sucks…" he groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, "What time is it?"

You fished your phone from the nightstand next to you, tapping the screen to wake it up, "It's just past 6:30 pm."

"Jesus… And what time is it back home? 12:30?"

You hummed in agreement, stretching your arms above your head. The two of you had been asleep for several hours, which meant you weren't fucking sleeping tonight without heavy sedation. Rolling over to his side, his eyes watched as you woke up your legs, pointing your toes to make your body as long as possible. He was getting that shy smile again and you could tell his brain was working in ways you couldn't possibly read.

"What?"

He chuckled to himself, pulling his eyes away from you, "Nothing, it's nothing."

It didn't seem like nothing, but he clearly didn't feel like talking about it, and it certainly didn't seem bad, not when he got a smile like that. Still, you weren't going to push him, not now. Not when you were hoping he would do something for you.

"I have a thought," you started, making sure his eyes were upon you again and he was listening, "It's still pretty early in the evening and neither of us are going to be sleeping anytime soon, so what if we went out? Go be tourists for the night? I could show you around, we could see the sites like normal people…"

"We're normal people," he rebutted, playing with your fingers.

"You know what I mean, Steve," you whined, "Normal in the sense that we won't be driven around or have to get dressed up to go eat out. Just you and me, our own two feet, and the cameras on our cellphones. It doesn't get much better than that."

He had that same considering look on his face that he had when he was thinking about the gold dress at Harrods. You looked up at him through your lashes, giving him the biggest puppy-dog eyes you could muster. You wanted to show him around so badly and it almost seemed blasphemous that you hadn't been over to see Westminster Bridge yet. Who knew what the rest of the trip entailed? Not you, certainly. So if not now, when?

Taking a deep breath in, he sighed, "Fine, but I get to pick where we're eating," and you nearly jumped into his lap in excitement. Instead, you flung your arms around him, dusting his face with tiny kisses. "Go, get off of me and get ready before I change my mind," he laughed. He didn't need to tell you twice, you lept out of the bed and pulled your jeans out from the closet, changing right there in front of him. You could feel his eyes practically burning across your skin and you couldn't help teasing him a little, wigging your ass to get into your jeans.

That was a mistake though because he suddenly got out of the bed and grabbed you, making you shriek in surprise as the two of you fell back onto the blankets. "Nope, I changed my mind, we're staying in tonight," he declared through your furious laughter, his lips making contact with any bit of skin that they could find. He held you tight, his strong arms doing their best to weaken your resolve.

"Noooo, you can't take it back! You already said I could take you out and I've already put pants on!" you giggled, half-heartedly pushing him away.

"I mean, pants can come off so easily…" he murmured against your lips, his fingers trailing down your bare stomach and playing with the waistband. His kisses were soft, sleepy, like he wasn't in a hurry and he just wanted to enjoy the feel of your lips on his. You were more than happy to oblige, loving the feel of his chest against yours, his fingers on your skin. To his credit, he didn't try to push, never doing more than letting his fingers dip to feel the soft skin on your hip. This was the less that was more.

It took nearly an hour, mostly due to Steve being a distraction, but the two of you finally got your asses out of the hotel, making the short walk to the Holborn Underground station. He stood patiently at the machine, letting you make the transactions for a couple of travel cards, and you showed him how to tap the card to go through the gate. It wasn't that he was completely helpless, being that he had grown up in New York, but you could tell that it had been a long, long while since he was ever forced into planning a trip anywhere on his own. You took his hand and led him down, opting to take the westbound Piccadilly train and switch at Green park.

"They actually say 'Mind the gap?'" he asked, amused by the automated voice that announced each stop and what attractions could be found there.

"Yes, they actually do, because at some places the gap can be wide or uneven, and if you're not paying attention, you could get hurt," you informed, just loving being back on clean and efficient (for your standards) public transportation. The L was fine, as far as American transport went, but the Tube was another level. It was more than just a metal train car going extremely fast under the streets of London, it was history itself.

Steve held an amused curiosity. His eyes darted around, trying to take in everything; the maps of the whole system (There's an actual stop named Cockfosters?), the artwork on the front of the free pocket map (You mean they change it every month or so?), the fact that the seats were different between the Piccadilly line and Jubilee line (but then the cars can't be switched out!) It was almost as if riding with a child, but you let him have his moments. This was a rare form.

The train pulled into the station, the doors lining up perfectly with the glass partitions, and the two of you stepped off (making sure to mind the gap, of course.) Your heart was pounding as you took his hand in yours once again, getting him back through the gates. You hoped it wasn't too dark out, being that the sun was just starting to set when you left the hotel. It felt like your very soul was buzzing, magnetic energy moving through you, feeling the spark in the air here. Your heart knew exactly where you were without even seeing it.

The light on the steps of the exit told you that you weren't too late, but there wouldn't be much time, and you gripped Steve's hand tight, taking the steps together and turning him around when you got back aboveground.

"Holy fuck," was all he could whisper, the blue in his eyes sparkling with the lights trying to stave off the coming dusk.

It never failed to make you feel like you were finally home. Big Ben stood before you, the clock face lit from behind, the greenish crown sitting perfectly on his head as the spire reached towards the heavens. Over a hundred years old and yet it always felt new, always felt inspiring, always felt like this was where you were meant to be. You took a breath, letting the air fill your lungs, and you smiled. Through everything that had happened, the hardships and heartbreaks, now, being here with Steve, your soul felt at peace.


	10. Chapter 10 - Music is Through

A/N: If you like this, please let me know! Comments are amazing!

Westminster Abbey. St. James' Park. Your favorite bookstore. Covent Garden. Platform 9 ¾. Shopping at Oxford Circus. It was all so very touristy but you wouldn't have it any other way. You ate at pubs, you ate at sushi places, you ate through so many bags of Percy Pigs that you swore you weren't going to be able to fit into the dresses. Steve had actually decided that public transit wasn't so bad after all and even insisted on taking the Tube around, at least when the two of you were out doing these touristy things. You loved seeing this side of him, the side that was living in the moment, here with you. He had promised that this would also be a vacation for the two of you and so far, he had kept that promise.

The soft sound of scratching was the first thing you noticed. Your senses woke up one by one, taking their turns registering the new day. Coffee, strong coffee wafted through the air. The comforting weight you had gotten so used to was gone, your body not being pulled to the center of the mattress. A blind hand moved under the covers, seeking out any bit of skin that might signal another's presence.

He wasn't here.

And your heart stopped.

Was something wrong? Had something happened? Behind closed eyes your mind flipped through scenes from the past few days, wondering if you had done something, anything that would cause him to not want to stay in bed with you. It came up blank; you hadn't even pushed the 'g-word' on him, even though you were certainly acting like it. Where was he?

And there was that scratching again, gentle, almost rhythmic.

Slowly you allowed your eyes to open, the morning light filtering nicely through the window overlooking the courtyard. The window was open slightly, letting in a comfortable summer morning breeze and ushering in the delicious smell of the city over the coffee. And there he was, Steve, sitting at the small table, wearing nothing but the fluffiest of white robes, several days scruff and adorable bed head, with his feet propped up on a nearby suitcase. The twist in your stomach relaxed at the sight of him, a cup of coffee on the table, a notepad and pencil in his hands. Ah, so that was the scratching. His phone was also on the table, open, with a photo up that his eyes flicked over every so often to reference. His long lashes fell over the notepad, a contented smirk on his face. God, your heart couldn't take much more of this man. He wasn't even doing anything and yet he still held an air around him, a magnetic force that your very being responded to. It felt not unlike how he watched you on the car ride from the airport, how he said you had a different look about you. He looked different, relaxed, unguarded. He was spending a few moments doing something for himself that he enjoyed and his mind had calmed, leaving himself vulnerable. You longed to be that safe space for him, where he didn't need any walls. You wanted to live in this quiet forever with him, this place where both your souls were settled together.

Your muscles betrayed you, the need to stretch depriving you of your silent observance, and your arms reached over your head of their own accord. The movement caught his eye, breaking his reverie. "Hey, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice low and soft, the sparkle behind his eyes bright.

"Morning," you responded in kind, adjusting the covers so you could sit up slightly, "What are you doing?"

His cheeks flushed a bit under his scruff and he averted his eyes, scratching the back of his head, "Ah, nothing. Just… drawing. Doodling really."

"Drawing? I didn't know you drew," you remarked, your curiosity piqued now.

"Yeah, I was pretty artistic as a kid. I considered art school before I went into the military," he explained, his fingers hesitating on the edges of the pad of paper. "Pragmatism won out. It usually does, but I do enjoy keeping up my creative side when inspiration hits."

"And are you feeling inspired again?" you asked, your voice edging on elitism in a teasing way. You longed to ask him what it was he was drawing, what photo he was using as a reference, but it was too personal. If he wanted to show you he would.

He laughed lightly and shook his head, opting to place the pad of paper back on the table before climbing onto the covers. You turned to face him and he reached a hand out, lacing his fingers with your own, "Something like that. My brain has enjoyed the time off for sure," he sighed. You had more than enjoyed the time off, never even thinking about the nothingness that was waiting for you back home.

"But tonight means that it's back to business, I suppose," you thought out loud, letting your thumb run gently over his knuckles. Your heart cried for him, knowing the pressure Steve put on himself when it came to his business. More so than ever before, the party tonight felt like it was make or break time. He slowly nodded, his eyes darting from your own, and you knew what you needed to do.

"Let me help, let me be more than just the girl on your arm tonight," you suggested, taking a deep breath and squeezing his hand a bit as his eyes went back to your own, "You said it yourself, I can talk, I'm pleasant company, give me some background and a few targets and I'll butter them up and then you can come in and seal the deal." It wasn't a bad idea, at least you didn't think so. Maybe some of these guys would rather talk to a hot girl than a man in a suit whom they knew wanted to make money off of them. Steve eyed you for a few moments, skepticism all over his face. "Look, if I'm not doing well or only making things worse, you can pull me out and I'll go back to admiring the view with a drink in hand. But I want to help in any way I can."

He considered your proposal and you couldn't help but feel like the tables had turned a bit since the first event in Chicago, when he sat you down and explained all that his career entailed. You had every right to walk away at that time and yet, you trusted him and stayed. You could only hope that he would be willing to make a similar leap of faith.

His eyes trained on yours again, that bright sparkle giving off a cool confidence, something you hadn't seen in a while, "You should get up. We have work to do."

Ulysses Klaue was tonight's host, an arms dealer from South Africa who was more dangerous than Tony and even a bit more unhinged. He was about as gray as one could go before you went totally over to the black market. He had a reputation for being flashy, for loving money and pretty girls (which explained the dress requirements Steve had sent to Harrods.) Steve didn't enjoy dealing with him directly but Klaue did have a hand in the international market and there was going to be a lot of influential people at this one, guaranteed. You supposed he would like the Pretty and Dumb Girl, the one who giggled and asked all the questions she already knew the answers about. You were to try to pump him for intel, for leads on who wanted to deal with whom.

Every once in a while though, mostly while your toes were being painted, you couldn't stop yourself from wondering why Steve was letting you help. The simple answer, of course, was because you asked and had asked nicely. Maybe he was just throwing you a bone, so to speak, since you had just lost your job and doing something productive was always a morale booster. But you wanted to believe that he was giving you a chance to prove that you were more than just a pretty face, that you could do so much more. You needed to prove to him that he could trust you fully with all the different facets of his life. And still, there was the tiniest voice inside of your head that whispered doubts ever so softly, almost like a subliminal hum. It wouldn't let you forget that he had been shrewd and manipulative with you before; just because he's acting soft and generous now doesn't change his past ways. You shut it up with the glass of champagne that he offered you while the lady got started on curling your hair.

"I still think it's a bit unfair that all you need to do is shower and throw on a suit and you're deemed acceptable, whereas women have to spend most of the day being plucked and painted," you lamented.

"Hey, that's not my fault. Blame the millions of dollars generated by the fashion and beauty industries and the patriarchal backbone that created them," he spewed, an amused grin on his face as he paced around the closet, wearing just the robe and slippers.

"You're part of that patriarchal backbone," you threw back.

"Ah, but I didn't create it," and you knew there really wasn't any winning. On the plus side of all the red raw skin that happened, you had gotten quite accustomed to the massages and facials, so you supposed there was a trade-off.

You took a long sip of your drink and placed the glass on the vanity, your neck being forced back by the pull of the curling iron, "So who else should I know about?" you called.

"I've heard rumors that King T'Challa of Wakanda might make an appearance," Steve explained and it felt a bit like your head was going to explode.

"Wakanda? What is Wakanda?" you asked, never having heard of such a place.

"A very small but very powerful country in Africa. Until recently, they were incredibly secretive and isolated from the rest of the world. Everyone will be trying to talk to him, but Wakandans are notorious for distrusting outsiders."

"So maybe if they don't know who I am or why I'm there, I'll have a better chance of getting in," you finished as the lady yanked on your hair again.

"Exactly," Steve smiled, taking a seat at the edge of the marble tub, "There might be a few more there, Quill and the others that deal exclusively in the underground market, but I can't be seen even entertaining them if I want to keep my nose clean in DC, so they aren't worth your time."

It was a bit overwhelming how much he was trusting you with all this information and intelligence. There was so much more to this than just talking. Each person had their own preferences, their own personality profiles, and Steve had done his research… or had just been around these people far too much in the past few years. It's not that you wanted to walk down this same path as him. You didn't want to become an arms dealer yourself. But you couldn't stand idly by anymore as deals went on around you, as he worked and you stood, looking dumb and pretty. You wanted something more to show for your time with him than just some dresses and a fat check.

"Will you get upset if I flirt with them?" you asked nonchalantly, picking at the hem of the silky robe you were wearing. Flirting was a strong suit of yours, after all, it's how you landed Steve. And from the sound of things, more than a few of the targets would respond well to a stranger's advances.

Steve considered you for a moment, his eyes locked to yours but with a small amused smirk across his lips. "That depends. I've watched you flirt to get what you want up close and I have to say, it's pretty fun. I think that as long as what you want and what I want is the same, then there won't be any issues."

You took in his words, emboldened by the fact that he enjoyed the flirting between the two of you as much as you did. Slowly, you uncrossed your legs, letting them sit open wide as the soft fabric from the robe rode up higher on your thigh. Your eyes met his own as your bit gently on your bottom lip, your fingertips edging the neckline of the pristine white fabric. "Remind me again, what is it that you want?"

His eyes trailed along the exposed skin, drinking in the view that had been denied him for so long. You could practically see the heat rising behind his eyes, the flush dusting along his scruff covered cheeks. God, you loved to tease him, even the smallest bit. He was so easy, responding so predictably and generously, never failing to let you enjoy the feel of his eyes upon your body.

In one smooth motion, he shooed the hairdresser away, closing the distance between the two of you and pulling you up and out of the chair, your legs settling around his waist as he held you up. You let out an excited shriek as your back hit the cool marble on the wall, your body pinned there by him. His lips found your throat, tiny butterfly kisses tracing up your jaw until they found the shell of your ear, his hips grinding into your own so you could know exactly what reaction you were getting from him.

"You know damn well what it is that I want," he growled in your ear and your core ached, his dominating nature twisting the coil white-hot within you. His fingertips ran up your thighs, playing with the waistband of your panties and moving dangerously close to where it was that you needed him to touch, "But money is a close second."

"Mmm, you know exactly how to get what you want…" you hummed, your voice deep in your throat. You couldn't resist it, even though you knew it wasn't going to have the reaction you wanted. It was a dangerous territory to play in and you knew that if he pushed your line hard enough, it very well might disappear completely.

You could feel him smirk against your ear, his pillowy lips and teeth brushing up against your soft skin as he set you back down, your feet hitting the chilly floor. He laughed to himself as he pulled away, the cool air making your flesh rise into goosebumps and he brought two fingers across his mouth, shaking his head at you. "You play a tough game, you know that? Very nearly had me there," he chuckled, grabbing a towel from his side of the closet. With a sigh, you just crossed your arms. What was the big deal about it anyway? The two of you were acting like you were in a relationship, there were definitely emotions flying like it was a relationship, why couldn't it be a relationship? What was the harm in having a girlfriend?

He chuckled and shook his head again as he stepped through the frosted glass door, tossing his clothes over the top of it so they landed in a pile on the floor. The hairdresser tiptoed back into the room as you took your seat again at the vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. The reflection staring back was a different girl than a couple of weeks ago. This girl was cool, confident, felt worthy and equal. This girl would play the game just as well as he could and if this was a game, if all of this was just strategy and making moves, then for fuck's sake you were determined to win.

An elegant knot at the back of your head, the smokiest of smoky eyes, the form-fitting dress completed with the Manolo Blhaniks. You had been powdered and perfumed until your skin was baby-soft, your nails jet black with silver glitter tips. This was different than feeling like Cinderella, this was more. This felt like more. Not quite Eowyn taking off her helmet to kill the Witch King, but maybe just under it. Maybe on par with Hermione at the Yule Ball, it felt like people were meant to notice you now.

The blue of the necklace sparkled against the transparent black mesh of the neckline, perfectly matching the tie and pocket square of Steve's chosen suit. Ah, so that's what that assistant was doing. He had gone with the midnight black three-piece, a crisp white silk shirt, and actually had the hairstylist pomade and mess up his hair. The barber had come and cleaned up his scruff for him, trimming it to an even length but still leaving a bit of a 5 o'clock shadow. It suited him immensely, the whole look elevating him from this eager soldier boy to a knowledgeable and confident military man. He wasn't someone you wanted to fuck with.

The whole look, the two of you in your black ensembles screamed "Power Couple", and as he wrapped his arms around your waist while the two of you attended to your final looks in the mirror, you let yourself lean back into him, feeling how his body melded back into yours. He let his chin dip along your neck, letting his head rest on your shoulder, his beard tickling the exposed skin. These were some of your favorite moments, the quiet ones just before the hustle and bustle when you could feel his heart beating against you. He held you tight, his head down, and your soul hurt, begging his own to let you in. You would take any of the hurt from him, take the worry off his shoulders, if only he would let you.

"Hey," you said gently, raising a hand to cup his cheek and he lifted his eyes, meeting your own in the mirror, "We got this. It's going to be a good night."

His eyes relaxed, his lips turning up into a soft smile and he nodded against your shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss on it before standing up tall again, his usual air coming back to him. Slowly he untangled himself from you but still held your hand, throwing his arm out so that you could spin back in. You twirled into his arms again, the bottom of the dress swirling out around your legs and every sequin catching the light. But it was your grin, your electric smile that shone the brightest of all, jumping from your face to his as your chests collided.

Your eyes caught his, the sparkle behind them making the breath catch in your lungs, and he softly cupped your cheek, capturing your lips with his own. You sighed into the kiss and his tongue played against your own, tasting the sips of whiskey he had while getting ready. His grip on your waist tightened and you could feel his hard torso through the fine clothes, sending your mind racing. The two of you wanted each other so fucking badly, the line you swore you wouldn't cross fading away with every second his lips were on your neck.

God fucking damn it. This whole thing was stupid. What was a title? What did it matter? It didn't make anything more real, how you felt more valid. You were done with this petty shit, these games and standoffs. You wanted to loosen his tie, to move your fingers under the collar of his jacket to push it off his shoulders, to have him drag down the zipper of your dress as you pulled him over to the bed. Your core ached, so ready it was almost painful, and you let the smallest of moans escape your throat. Taking a step back, you let your back hit the mirror, pulling his body to yours. The heat was palpable between the two of you, your teeth nipping at his already kiss-swollen bottom lip, your fingers tugging at his belt buckle.

"Fuck…" he seethed, the word barely dripping from his lips before you caught them again. His hips moved seemingly of their own accord, crashing into your own, trapping your hands against your bodies as his explored the curve of your hips. This wasn't just kissing anymore, no one could ever mistake it as innocent. You wanted to be his in every way you could.

"No…" he breathed, his whole body seizing up as he took the smallest of steps back, "No, we can't do this right now. We're already running later than I would like."

"You know, we don't have to go…" you whispered, trying to go for his lips again, but he turned his head and you got his cheek.

He snorted through his nose with a small smile, "Hmm, that sounds familiar…"

Your fingers wrapped around his tie, your eyes looking up at him through your long lashes, "Nobody will miss us if we're a little late…" you purred, using his tie to pull your body to his again.

His lips found the cut of your jaw, dragging up until they got to the shell of your ear, "Raincheck, for later?" Your lips turned down into a pout that he tried to kiss away but you knew you were beat. It just seemed like the two of you were never able to get the timing right. You sighed heavily into his chest as he held you tightly, his deep voice rumbling through you, "Let's go and see where the night takes us."

Lacing his fingers with your own, you grabbed your clutch with your phone in it and Steve led you out of the hotel and into the waiting car, letting you settle yourself into the crook of his arm for the ride. You enjoyed it when he was like this; self-assured and confident. But you found that you also enjoyed his moments of vulnerability when he let you into his castle walls and shared his quiet with you. He was different than what the others thought they knew, not even Bucky had him totally pegged. You knew it in your heart that Steve was more than just a cold and cruel businessman.

The car sped you past St. Paul's Cathedral and you knew you were headed away from the city center, surprisingly. To be fair, you really couldn't expect anything from these parties anymore. Steve's had been a classy, modern affair to show off what makes Chicago sparkle, Tony's was sordid and debauched, letting you know exactly all the facets of this world. From the sound of things Klaue was even worse, but by the way you were dressed you couldn't believe that this one would be so low. If it was, well, you were way overdressed. Over the bridge you went, giving a spectacular view of the Thames just as the sun was starting to lay golden over the city. It was almost as if it was showing it's true colors. Seemed a lot of that was going around. The car pulled up in front of an entryway and you couldn't help to look up as Steve offered his hand to help you out.

"Holy fuck...," you let fall from your lips.

"Hey, I thought that was my line..." Steve smirked, placing a steady hand on the small of your back.

"He did not rent out the top of The Shard for this," you said in disbelief. The Shard was London's tallest building, a pure glass and metal pyramid spike rising over the city. If Klaue was having a debauchery filled evening, then it was going to be the classiest brothel ever.

Your attention was pulled away from the building by the undeniable sound of a jet engine taking off at ground level. A matte black sports car whipped around the corner, coming just centimeters away from being on the sidewalk as it barreled down the road, the brakes squealing as it stopped short in front of the building.

"Who is that?" you wondered out loud, noticing how Steve seemed to stand just a tiny bit taller. The drivers' side door swung up, a black heel and a long bare leg revealing itself. A woman climbed out, her pale skin setting off her red hair, cut into a stylish bob that curled under at her chin. She had a pointed face, sharp green eyes, and she had also opted on wearing a black dress. Her's was shorter, coming to just above her knees, and also much, much tighter, leaving little of her ample assets to the imagination. Steve pulled you in a little closer as the woman made eye contact with him.

"Natasha Romanoff," he greeted. Natasha? You had heard that name before; Bucky had mentioned it in passing that night in Chicago. But he had failed to mention how… attractive she was. Your fingers instinctively went for the pendant at your neck, playing with it absentmindedly.

"Stevie Rogers, wow," she replied in kind, even her voice had a smooth, smokey tone to it, "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you here. Don't you usually send Barnes to these more unscrupulous events?"

"I'm sure he'll make an appearance," Steve sighed, his hand placing gentle pressure on your back so that you walked with him, "As always, it's wonderful to see you again, Nat."

"Hope your friend doesn't think too badly of the company you keep after tonight," Natasha called back and Steve rolled his eyes. He led the two of you inside, signaling to the clerk at the desk who then pressed a button, automatically opening the doors to an elevator.

"Maybe it was just me but was there some weird tension going on there?" You inquired, your mind knocking on that door.

Steve sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets, "She wanted to, I rejected her. Years ago, when we were both just starting out."

"You rejected her? Seriously?"

"I'm not really attracted to her…"

"Come on, Steve. Even I wouldn't mind spending a night with her," you interrupted, unable to fathom that he didn't find Natasha sexy, even on a primal level.

"Now that is something I would pay a lot of money to watch..." he lamented, the vulgarity from his time in the Army coming out. The look in your eyes told him that now probably wasn't the time to fantasize about a threesome, "Look, is she easy on the eyes? Yeah, but she can't be trusted. She weaponizes sex in a way that no one else can and only ever says what someone wants to hear. I'm much, much more attracted to a girl who can keep up with my mind," and his arms draped around your waist, his lips pressing to your forehead. Good fucking answer, you supposed. You let your body lean into his embrace for a moment before the elevator doors opened on the 69th floor.

Floor to ceiling windows, not that you expected anything less, set off by cool steel framing, a deep blue light shining up each beam. The floor was warm hardwood with small standing tables scattered about, draped in black. There was a DJ set up in one corner playing some soft but lively music and at the opposite end of the room was Klaue, surrounded by a whole entourage at his own table. It all seemed to be pleasantly civil, if only a touch of trying to be too cool. A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne and Steve grabbed two flutes, handing one to you. Your head spun around as the two of you made your way in, trying to find someone, anyone you might recognize.

"I don't see Pepper…" you lamented, taking a step to the side as another waiter came through with a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"That's because she and Tony weren't invited. Tony refuses to sell to Klaue for moral reasons," Steve informed but not looking at you, "I'm not on his blacklist, but he doesn't much care for me either, so it might be better for you if he doesn't see you with me," and he finally turned to face you, "I'm going to go try to find T'Challa, we'll meet up in a bit. Just relax, have fun, pretend you're talking to me and he'll be like putty in your hands, okay?"

Taking a deep breath, you nodded slowly and Steve chanced to give you a quick kiss on the top of your head. With a soft smile, he left you, his tall frame disappearing into the crowd of people.

Right. Relax. Just be yourself, but also don't forget to laugh at his dumb jokes and pretend you don't know or care about anything else in the world and you need him to teach you. Totally fine and easy. You tipped the glass of champagne back, emptying it at the thought. Your eyes scanned the room again, desperate to conjure Pepper from thin air. The rift between Tony and Steve meant that you and Pepper had to take your respective sides, which was pretty terrible timing for you. She would know what to do. She would know what you were up against and why you volunteered for this. She was really the only one who could understand.

You shook your head out a little, shaking your brain back to the here and now. Time to do your job.

Head held high, you sauntered over to Klaue's table, keeping your eyes focused on the window behind him, making out the top of Canary Wharf in the distance. He was too busy talking to one of his henchmen to notice you approaching, that was until your thigh managed to clip the edge of his table.

"Oh!" came from you, throwing your hands out to steady yourself. The force of the impact sent the bronze lineup he had going on to scatter, little cylinders rolling out of line. Klaue broke from his conversation, an annoyed look on his face until he met your own. "I'm so sorry, I really should watch where I'm going but I just had to get a closer look at the view," you said, your voice high and breathy.

"That's quite alright, miss," he responded, his eyes softening at your girlish demeanor, "Why don't you come 'round here and get a better look?"

You let a coy smile form on your lips as you round the table but not turning to face the window, instead keeping your eyes locked on his own. He was handsome, in a sort of rugged explorer kind of way, with blue-gray eyes and salt and pepper hair cut close on the sides but long and curly on top. His full beard complimented his nature and he opted for wearing the bare minimum of his own dress code, a white shirt with gray slacks and vest. But really it was his head tattoos that made sure everyone knew what kind of man they were dealing with.

You let your bottom lip slip between your teeth as you blatantly let your eyes wander over his features, "You're right, the view from here is much better."

He seemed to like that because he shooed the henchman he was talking to away and offered you his seat, which you happily obliged, "I do have to say, the pleasure is really all mine," and his eyes roamed your form, particularly enjoying your chest. It made you feel like a piece of meat but you didn't dare to protest. It really was a miracle that you made it this far.

While he memorized your body for his spank bank, your eyes fell upon the bronze cylinders that were on the table and you couldn't help but stiffen up. Bullets, now scattered but were once lined up perfectly, ready to be loaded into the magazine that sat next to them.

He noticed, he definitely noticed your immediate discomfort. Arms dealers, duh. There were bound to be guns around, hell, you were surprised that you hadn't yet found one at Steve's house. But at least Steve had military training and knew how to use one. Here, there were a lot of people with a lot of egos who have had a lot of alcohol. It just seemed like a bad idea. A small snort came through his nose as he leaned back, taking a pistol off of his hip and placing it on the table in front of you.

"Do guns make you nervous, love?" he asked, not exactly in a condescending tone, but one that made you think he knew you weren't exactly experienced. "Go on now, pick it up, see how it feels. You never know, you might like it…" and his hand came to rest on your knee.

What could you do? You trusted yourself to hold it, more so than anyone else in the room, but that didn't mean you were dying to hold a gun. One that, by the look of it, was probably loaded too. You swallowed hard as his eyes followed your hand to reach out. Slowly your fingers wrapped firmly around the handle, making damn sure your index finger was nowhere near the trigger. It was heavy, much heavier than you expected, but it felt good in a way. There was an inherent power that came with a weapon like that.

"You like that? Like how that feels?" he asked, his lips close to your ear and you just nodded. You didn't want to freely admit that holding a loaded gun was a little bit exciting for you, especially not in a room full of people that were so deconditioned to the danger that your naiveté was amusing to them. Your curiosity was begging to explore it, to look at the parts closer and even to take it somewhere and shoot it. You wondered how much kickback it would have, how loud it could be, if you were any good at aiming it…

"Whoa… an FN Five-SeveN, that's a pretty serious piece of hardware for such a little girl…" Natasha's voice floated over, a glass of red wine in her hand. As soon as she sauntered over Klaue's face lit up, his hand leaving your knee. The woman smoothly poured herself into his lap, using her long fingers to brush away a few stray curls on his forehead, "I don't think that's such a good idea, giving the children their own firearms. Really, you're much more of the Nerf gun speed than anything with actual bullets," she taunted.

You could feel the warmth in your cheeks as they laughed and you quickly set the piece back down on the table, forcing a grin onto your lips to not look too embarrassed. "Oh, don't feel too bad, Stevie should have known better than to send a girl in to do a woman's job," Natasha muttered before turning all her attention back on Klaue, "Lys, babe, I feel like I haven't seen you since we did that deal in Amsterdam…"

And he was gone, Natasha's name drop of Steve making damn sure that he wouldn't talk to you anymore. That was really your one shot with Ulyssys Klaue and you blew it. Quietly you excused yourself from your seat at the table and wove through the throngs until you made it back to the elevator, punching the button for 72.

You should have known better. It was your own damn fault. You could fake it until you made it with Steve or Bucky, or even Tony for a short while, but you were idiotic to think that you could really go after a guy like Ulysses Klaue. Playing dumb was one thing, but Natasha was right, you acted like a scared little girl once you realized there were actual firearms around. Despite what your heart wanted, maybe your gut was right; that you just weren't cut out for trying to fit into this world.

What was Steve going to do when he found out you failed? It wasn't that you were afraid he was going to be angry, after all, you did try. But you never wanted to disappoint him; you didn't want to be the one person in his life who didn't measure up, who couldn't keep up. He kept saying that you were looking and acting differently since the two of you got here but now he was going to realize that you were still just that weird, nerdy girl in her t-shirt and jeans.

The heavy doors opened and immediately a warm breeze ripped through you. Although it wasn't a truly open deck, like on Chicago's best rooftops, the glass panels didn't fully enclose this space either, leaving large gaps where corners ought to be; the closest feeling to being outside at this height that Health and Safety would allow. The deck was nearly abandoned, the party going on downstairs providing seemingly better entertainment. That was more than fine with you.

Stepping up to the rail, you let your eyes wander over towards the east, with the Tower of London and Tower Bridge more than filling your view. If anything, this was a vacation dream come true, something you would remember fondly for the rest of your life. It happened at a time when you needed it the most, a time when you needed that kick in the pants to stop experiencing your life and start living it. The thought that you would be leaving this incredible city in less than two days saddened you, but in the time you had been here you got to live more than you had in a long time. And for that, no matter what happened, you would let yourself be thankful.

"Stupid fucking wifi…" a woman a little younger than you muttered in a thick accent that you couldn't really place. While you were lost in your own head she had wandered over to the railing, her phone clutched in her hands. She was wearing a gorgeous deep green dress that set off her dark skin tone, her hair done up in beautiful braids and wrapped into a bun on the top of her head. "I'm so sorry to bother you but do you have a phone I could use for a few minutes? I need to check on something at home. I was promised wifi but apparently that's not working…" she asked.

Fishing your phone from your clutch, you unlocked it and handed it over to her with a nod, "Sure, I got a data plan our second day here and I'm not going to use it all. Do whatever."

The woman smiled at you as she typed some things into the phone, opening up a web browser to check her business. "So, are you having as terrible a time as I am?

You couldn't help the snort that came out of your nose, even though you knew it wasn't exactly polite. "Yeah, I was hoping this one would be better," you confessed. You had such high hopes for this one; New York and the lowest point in your life seemingly behind you, you could only go up from there. "Not as bad as the last one, mind you, that was a personal disaster, but there's so much wasted potential. I mean, look, no one else is even up here to enjoy the view," and you gestured to the city that was 72 floors below you, all lit up and sparkling like so many stars above.

She finished with your phone and cleared out her tab in your browser, handing it back to you with a thankful smile, "Hopefully the opening in Berlin is better. Less business, at least. I'm with you, I like to have some fun if I have to be trapped with all these white men. No offense," she offered and you laughed lightly.

"Believe me, none taken," you started, "You're going to Berlin too?"

"We're being paraded all over for the next few weeks. London, Berlin, now there's talk of going to America. I hope it's California, I want to go to Disneyland or Coachella," and her eyes sparkled at the thought of being in the US. You didn't have the heart to tell her that Coachella had already passed for this year and she really wasn't missing anything except being out in the desert. She turned towards you, her eyebrow cocked in genuine confidence that few could afford, "What's your mission this evening?"

You nearly choked on your own spit. "My mission?" you asked. It was bold of her to assume that you even had one. Who was she anyway?

"Yeah, everyone comes here with a mission, so what's yours?" she stated point-blank. Her no-nonsense way of speaking was both at once refreshing and a little terrifying. At least with her, you didn't have to worry about what was going on in her mind.

You sighed, not really wanting to drudge up your failure for the night, but feeling like there was no point in lying to a stranger. "I was supposed to try to talk to Klaue about some leads, maybe find out what backdoor deals might be going on. But I kind of froze up and it fell apart. I guess I'm not exactly the femme fatale that is needed to make some connections," you lamented.

"Why? Are you trying to get in on the black market?" she chided and you quickly shook your head.

"No! No, the opposite actually," you started, gladly taking a glass of champagne that a waiter had offered. The mystery woman did the same and her features softened at your answer, "My boss is very above board. He doesn't like dealing with anyone who could potentially stab him in the back. He believes in fair and honest deals that make everyone money." She twirled the flute in her hands as she listened and you could tell that something more was going on in her brain. Taking a long sip, you managed to regain your bravery from earlier, "Why? What's your mission?"

She considered you for a moment before answering, "My brother has started dragging me to these things, says it's easier for me to have an honest conversation with someone than him. I'm supposed to find someone who can be our partner, someone trustworthy who can help us globalize," and her bright brown eyes met yours pointedly.

"Huh…" and you couldn't help but let the smile cross your lips, "Sounds like your brother and my boss should talk."

"Sounds like they should. But not tonight, in Berlin we'll introduce them. There's too much going on for them to see what we see," and she mirrored your smile, tipping her glass towards you. You clinked hers with yours, the whole exchange making your night instantly better.

The two of you stayed up there for what seemed like forever, well after your drinks were finished. It turned out that the people at these events were much cooler when they didn't want to talk about business or weapons. She invented things in her spare time, made all her own clothes and messed around with robotics, amongst other parts of science and tech. You felt woefully uninteresting in comparison but she insisted on the opposite, wanting to know as much as she could about life in America, "In case I ever get to go someday."

"If you're going to go to California, insist on going to the northern part. The whole area about 40 minutes south of San Francisco, you'll love that. That's where all the big tech companies are and the energy around there is crazy. You would love it," you insisted.

"It sounds like my kind of paradise," she smiled but it faltered as a man in a black suit approached the two of you. "No, I'm having a good time up here with my new friend," she maintained towards the man, crossing her arms in front of her in protest.

"Miss Shuri, I must insist. Your brother is ready to leave," the man insisted and your face suddenly felt warm. Of course, the party had to be dying down. Steve had no idea where you were this whole time, only that you obviously weren't with Klaue.

Shuri rolled her eyes at the man, silently shooting daggers into the back of his head as he turned back towards the elevator. "I'm sorry, I'm being dragged away by my overbearing sibling. But I'm looking forward to meeting up with you in Berlin on Friday," she said enthusiastically and she turned to follow the man.

You finally let your hands rub across your face as you nearly screamed into them. This night had turned straight batshit insane. Sure, things didn't go so well with Klaue, but now you secured at least an introduction for another business, one that seemed a lot more promising than grasping at cold leads that were possibly illegal.

Down the elevator you went, back to the 69th floor, and once there, you hiked your skirt up a bit to be able to walk a bit faster. Your head spun around, looking desperately for the tall, handsome man who was going to love you forever once he heard the news. However, your suspicion about the party dying down had been wrong. It seemed more packed than ever and was turning more unruly by the moment. Some drunk guy was trying to start a dance-off with a tree that was potted in the corner. Jesus, these people were weird.

"Ah, so you are here…" a silvery voice slipped down your spine and it felt like icicles were stabbing your skin. All at once your good mood deflated, instantly being put on the defensive.

"I had heard you might be at this party," you replied coolly, turning to face the man you loathed. Bucky Barnes stood in front of you, those steel-blue eyes being set off by his gunmetal gray suit and navy shirt. His hair was styled perfectly, that is to say not styled, and he let it play disheveled across his forehead. You hated yourself for allowing yourself to even think for a moment that he looked handsome. "Do you know where Steve is? I need to speak to him."

"Whoa, slow down, sweetheart," and he gave you his toothy grin, the same one he gave you the first night you met. He took that moment to let his eyes roam your curves in the dress and you sighed, knowing what was coming next, "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Thanks. Where's Steve?" This man was trying your patience and making you itch for another drink. You just knew that the longer you stayed in his presence the worse it was going to be for you.

"I'm sure Steve's around here and he's a big boy, he can come and find you," and he did a quick scan of the floor before returning his eyes to yours, "But you and I have just barely started talking."

"I seem to recall that last time you and I talked, you accused me of being a whore so please excuse me if I'm not exactly keen to revisit that," you spit out, your fingers tightening around your clutch. He was such an asshole towards you that it was shocking he even had the balls to speak with you.

His eyebrows flew up but his mouth twisted back into his smirk and you narrowed your eyes. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Really," you deadpanned, crossing your arms in front of you.

"Really," and his features softened, the slick and smartass act melting away, "Look, I want to apologize for how I acted last time we saw each other. It wasn't my best or finest moment and I'm sorry for how I treated you."

Holy fuck. An actual, honest and complete apology coming directly from his lips to your ears. It wasn't a half-assed text or had strings attached, 'but' statements that end up completely nullifying the sentiment. Bucky Barnes was truly sorry for how he made you feel that night in New York. And you had to admit, it softened your cold heart just a little bit.

"Well, thank you for that. I appreciate it," you accepted with a nod, "Both of us are going to be in Steve's life, we should at least get along."

The relief washed across his face and you could actually believe that he felt bad about the last time the two of you saw each other. "Exactly. He's got a lot on his plate and us fighting would only make things harder for him."

"Make things harder for whom?" Steve asked, his deep baritone catching you off guard but still managing to warm you through. He swirled his drink, raising his eyebrows expectantly for an answer. You snapped your mouth shut, knowing that Steve would know if you were trying to lie.

"Nothing, we were just talking about Tony and Klaue. I was just explaining their history of hating each other," Bucky covered for you and you couldn't help but be appreciative. You hadn't told Steve what Bucky had said to you in New York and now was not the time to bring it back up. It didn't seem to matter anymore now anyway. "It's a good thing you came by, your girl here has been looking all over for you."

"Ah, yeah?" Steve asked, looking over at you with a smirk.

"Yes, I think you might be happy about what I found out," you beamed back at him. You could barely hold it in anymore but you really didn't want Bucky to try and take the lead.

Steve raised his glass to his lips again, mumbling, "I hope so. I didn't see you with Klaue all night."

The smile slowly slipped from your face, although you tried your hardest to not let it. So what? Klaue was too big of a mark to go after your first time out. He was too volatile, too changeable for you to hold his attention for very long. But if Steve noticed that you weren't where you were supposed to be, why didn't he come looking for you?

"Well, before you two go talk business, I wanted to run something by the both of you," Bucky broke through, sweeping a hand through his hair, catching your eye, "I leave for Berlin tomorrow and I'm not sure what your plans are but I was hoping maybe you could accompany me? We can go out for dinner, show you around Berlin where Stevie and I were stationed?"

No. Fuck no. The whole idea sounded terrible, being stuck in a small airplane and then in a strange city with Bucky? It was the worst idea he had ever had. He may have apologized but that didn't mean you trusted him further than you could throw him. How long until he gets pissed off again and decides to stab you in the back, throwing verbal abuses your way? If he truly wanted to make things easier for Steve, he would know that the two of you shouldn't be near each other for an extended period of time.

"That's very generous of you, Mr. Barnes, but we weren't planning on leaving London until the day of the gallery opening," you turned down, trying your best to show gentle disappointment.

"I'm sure that something can be arranged," he tried again, looking between you and Steve, "As you said, we're both in Steve's life now. I would love to get to know you better and I'm sure it would be greatly advantageous for you to get to know me better. Nothing would make me happier."

Your eyes flicked to Steve's in silent pleading. Leaving London sooner than you had to would be hurtful enough, but to then have to go be without Steve would be heartbreaking. One more day, just one more day here, in this city, your city, with him. All he had to do was say no.

"We'll see, Buck," was all he said and he clapped a firm hand on his friend's shoulder, "But for now, I think we should get going. I don't like the way this party is turning." And indeed the tone hand changed. People were starting to eye each other nervously, their hands staying on their hips in anticipation. You knew something was going to go down and you didn't want to be here to witness it.

The ride back to the hotel was silent, although Steve did let you snuggle under his arm. You couldn't help the feeling that you had done something wrong, that he was angry with you. Was it because he knew you didn't get anything from Klaue, or that you disappeared up to the roof instead of mingling with the other easy men there? You thought he didn't really want you flirting with them, even if it meant getting information from them. You swore that one solid contact was worth more than 20 iffy introductions. It was still more than what he originally wanted to let you do.

The car dropped you off in front of the building and the two of you walked through the lobby, Steve in the lead, no hand-holding this time. Your feet ached, your hair giving you a headache from being pinned so tightly. Your stomach growled from the lack of food. You could murder a cheeseburger right now.

As soon as he got in the room, he loosened his tie, draping his jacket on the back of a chair and unpinning his cufflinks. He collapsed into the sofa of the living room, not even making it into the bedroom. You sat on the bed, pulling off your shoes before standing in front of the small table he had been sitting at so many hours ago. The pad of paper was there and you just couldn't help yourself. Gingerly, you turned it over to see what he had been working on inside of his head.

The background was nothing more than a few lines, giving the impression of Portcullis House, the black and white building that was across the street from Big Ben. But the main subject of the drawing was you, clearly you, your side profile while you looked up, presumably at the clock face. You were smiling, the bell must have just gone off, reverberating throughout the City of Westminster. He hid something behind your eyes, managing to capture everything your heart felt in that moment, in most of the moments since the wheels touched down at Heathrow. He was drawing from a photo. A photo of you that he took without you knowing on that first day.

You needed this man. Now.

"Steve?" you started, rounding the doorway and hiking up the heavy skirt to be able to straddle him, but the image of him on the couch made you drop it.

He sat there, his hair disheveled, eyes tired, much like how he looked that time after the investors meeting. His fingertips were tented down, his eyes following them, and the sound of your voice made him swallow hard.

"Steve?" you tried again, gently this time and he closed his eyes, clenching his jaw, "What's wrong?"

He took a moment, nodding to himself before letting his eyes meet yours across the room and you knew it before the words even left his lips.

"You should go with Bucky tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11 - Every Little Thing

A/N: Please, please consider leaving a line or two to let me know what you think of this story. is inherently passive unless a comment it left, so I have no real idea if you like it or not. Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading it.

"No."

"You need to go with Bucky tomorrow."

"Why? Why do I need to?"

"Let me rephrase that," he started, his voice dangerously close to on edge, "I need you to go with Bucky." Emphasis on I.

"Steve, what's going on? I thought that…" and you couldn't really finish that sentence right now. What you had thought was going to happen once you got back from the party and what was actually happening were worlds apart. Galaxies even.

"Oh, come on," he interrupted the silence, the aggravation evident behind his eyes, although he took a breath to even his temper, "I know you know. I know you know about Tony, about why tonight mattered so fucking much, about how close I am to losing it all."

The more he spoke the more it just felt like an invisible fist was pushing in harder and harder on the middle of your chest. The fist made it hard to breathe, hard to speak, hard to do anything but stay paralyzed in the middle of the room. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him that he wasn't going to lose it all, even if the business dried up you would still be there. As if your opinion really mattered.

"Bucky is the only one making me any money right now. He has the contacts and the reputation and at this point, if he decided to walk away from me, he would walk out with the rest of my clients. He needs to be kept happy," Steve stated plainly.

"But he would never do that to you," you tried, your voice shaking.

"He's tried before, a year ago. I know what the man is capable of."

The silence hung in the air at his confession and you didn't really know what to do with it. What was Steve's loyalty to him? You knew they were old Army buddies but it felt like Bucky tried to push the limits of the loyalty every damn time.

"It's one date, that's all he wants," fell from his lips in almost a whisper, almost in pleading.

One date. A few hours, a meal, you were sure, some conversation. It was a chance for Bucky to prove that he was civil, that he truly was sorry for his actions. But something in your gut just couldn't help feeling like you were walking into a trap. "I said I wanted to help but…"

"You would be… saving me."

Steve's eyes finally met yours across the infinite space that was now between you. They were tired, bloodshot and red, and he wore the weight of his request heavy on his shoulders. The invisible fist finally broke through your sternum, crushing your heart into your lungs. How much would you be willing to break to lighten his load, to ease his soul again?

Slowly, tentatively you closed that space, his eyes never leaving your own as you stood before him. Your whole body felt numb, that was until your fingertips lightly brushed his temple and he leaned his head into your touch. The contact, his skin against yours, was both at once innocent and intimate and the feeling radiated back into your body. Your fingers moved through his hair and he rested his head against your abdomen, the beading in your dress cutting into his cheek but he didn't seem to mind. Slowly your heart came back to life, beating the fist back as best it could, pouring whatever it could into Steve to wash away the weight on his mind. And you knew in that moment that you would do anything you could for him.

Because you loved him.

You didn't sleep well that night, it seemed like Steve didn't either. The timing never really seemed to work. He would reach out but hesitate to pull you close, you couldn't bridge the distance between. It was like you both wanted to pretend that this was a normal night, but there was too much anxiety between you, too much left unsaid. Whatever sleep you did get wasn't restful, punctuated by dreams of Bucky writing your name on a bullet.

When it all became too much you sat up, dragging yourself out of bed and into the shower. How was it that less than 24 hours prior you had awoken to the most perfect image of a man in his own unguarded space, letting his own private image of you invade it? What would the next 24 hours entail? The thought of it sent a chill through you, ignoring the feeling of dread that was heavily in the pit of your stomach. You just couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about tonight, that this wasn't just about the date. It was the nerves you should have had with Klaue, the ones that made you stay in your own lane and kept your feet on the ground. It was the anxiety that if you failed with Bucky in the same way you failed with Klaue, Steve would be ruined and it would be all your fault. You were Atlas with the world, Steve's world, on your shoulders. And you just had a feeling that tonight, you were going to shrug.

You finished up in the bathroom, wrapping yourself up in the fluffy robe Steve had worn yesterday. It still vaguely smelled like him, of how he actually smelled, not his cologne. It was a smell that warmed you from the inside, that made you feel protected. Like nothing bad can happen as long as he was around. If only that were true. The man had been sleeping right next to you and he couldn't protect you from yourself.

Quietly, you started to fold up your clothes in the closet, sorting out what you needed to pack. You were only supposed to bring your small bag of luggage since Steve would be flying in tomorrow morning and could take the rest of it. The gold dress and his tuxedo were being sent there directly so really the only things you needed were a change of clothes and your pajamas, plus your toiletries and makeup. It made for incredibly quick packing, not that you were happy about it right now. Right now you welcomed any sort of distraction.

Tea and the BBC. That would work. The Breakfast Show was so dull but you supposed that it was better than what you were going to have; at least these shows weren't in German. You managed to figure out how to boil water in the electric kettle that was on the side and found a packet of some decent English tea, stirring in far too much sugar for any normal person. Settling yourself on the couch, you sipped on your tea, legs tucked up under the hem of the robe.

The sound of shifting from the other room was your first sign, although you purposely didn't flinch or otherwise acknowledge it. You couldn't help but wonder if he had the same feeling you did when you found the bed empty, the slight panic and feeling for any indication that you were still nearby. Who knew how long Steve had actually been up. For some reason you couldn't imagine him lying in bed, wracking his brain for what he had done wrong to deserve to wake up alone.

"Morning," he greeted gruffly, the early hour and lack of sleep treating him a bit worse for wear. He padded across the room in just the sweatpants and slippers, since you had stolen his robe, and his hair was a complete mess. You tried to give him a weak smile but it all just hurt your heart so much. He had to know because he leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead and leaning his own against yours. The bit of intimacy, of him sitting next to you on the couch and gathering you up into his arms, combing his fingers through your damp hair, didn't make the pain any less. It just seemed to make it bigger, now big enough for two to share.

You both sat there in relative silence with nothing more than the noise of the tv, muted under the sounds of your breaths and heartbeats. You wanted to cry into his shoulder, beg to not have to go, but you knew it was no use. This was now Bucky's game and it was rigged against you. Instead, you just buried your face deeper into his chest, trying your best to hold onto what you knew was right.

You had no idea how long you were there, laying in Steve's arms, but your hair had dried before either of you moved again. You didn't care to move. If you moved then time would start back up and before you knew it, you wouldn't be in London anymore. What a fucking waste.

"Hey," he gently stirred, combing your hair again, "We got to get you on a plane soon."

"Do we though?" you mumbled, sighing into his skin.

"Yeah," he responded in kind, shifting so that he sat up straight, making it impossible for you to be snuggled on him anymore. Your lips turned into a frown on their own, taking a sip of your now cold tea. "You should go get dressed, I need to make a few calls to confirm the plans."

You knew when you were being dismissed. Slowly you stood, your muscles stretching with the finally reasonable hour. You wanted to climb back into his lap, to let him do all the things he had threatened to do to you the morning after in New York; you wanted to spend today in bed, ordering room service and finding out how many ways he could make you cum. One thing was for certain though, you didn't want to be getting on a plane today.

Steve didn't even come to see you off. He said he had to get some work done there, at the hotel, and going all the way to Luton and back wouldn't make sense. A quick hug, a kiss on the forehead (he was doing that a lot lately), and the smallest scrap of hope you could hold onto: "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

This definitely wasn't how you had planned on leaving London. And the rain falling down upon the city only served to mirror the tears in your eyes.

You steeled yourself as you stepped onto the small plane, refusing to let anyone see the chink in your armor. Least of all the other passenger.

"Look, before you even get started, all I really want to do is lay back and take a nap," you said, the irritation evident in your voice, "I promise that we'll have much better conversation tonight if I'm not cranky."

Bucky only raised his eyebrows at you behind his sunglasses, slipping his AirPods in each ear. Seemed you both were in agreement. Breathing a small sigh of relief, you picked the seat the furthest away from him as you could and settled in with a blanket and your headphones, willing the sweet white noise of the plane to take you away from this living nightmare.

An hour and a half later, the wheels touched down unceremoniously at Berlin Tegel Airport, the sky a beautiful rich blue. It would have been a downright welcome sight if you would have stuck with the original plans, if you would have landed here with Steve.

"I had some things sent to your hotel ahead of time, a dress and stuff," Bucky explained, almost nonchalantly as the two of you got into the shared car, "Steve mentioned that he usually hires the spa staff to help you get ready but since I'm not staying there, they wouldn't let me book services."

"No, it's fine," you acknowledged, "I didn't really want the glam squad for tonight anyway. I'm sure I can manage on my own." You could only assume that if you were subjected to the full makeover team, your nerves would be even worse than they were when you were being worked on in Chicago. As far as you were concerned, Bucky didn't deserve you at your absolute best.

Belin felt… different. Definitely different from London, a place you knew like the back of your hand. It felt less like a major city and more like driving through places you would back home. The highways were flanked with forests and the car moved at a quick pace, so unlike the traffic jams you were used to. You so wanted to try to give this city a chance, let it prove it's beauty to you, but your heart just wasn't open to it right now.

To his credit, Bucky knew when to leave you the fuck alone. It was almost surprising how little he tried to force conversation upon you, never really opting to take out his AirPods or take off his sunglasses. He probably felt a little worse for wear himself, after spending a good amount of the night before drinking at the party. A part of you hoped against hope that maybe he would be too tired for the date, that he would realize that you didn't want to be there and call the whole thing off.

But of course not. "Our reservation is at 7:30, so I'll be around at 7 to pick you up," he instructed as the car pulled up in front of the grand hotel. Of course, even while on the brink of financial ruin, Steve always had to keep up appearances. All you could muster was a slight nod of understanding and you turned away, dragging your small suitcase into the lobby.

The light marble floors were inlaid with art deco mandala mosaics at every intersection, the black granite doorways glittering under the natural light and grand chandeliers. You followed the signs with generic illustrations that could be understood in any language until you found the reception desk.

And then you remembered. You didn't speak German.

Panic pulled you back from the desk, a breath filling your lungs to calm you down again. You could do this, you couldn't be the first person to have to fumble their way through checking into a hotel. Except you didn't have a reservation number, the reservation wasn't in your name and you didn't have anything that had Steve's name on it in any official capacity. For all intents and purposes, you weren't really a guest at this hotel.

"Bist du in Ordnung?" a sweet voice floated over towards you, your head raising at the sound. A young, pretty blonde woman smiled slightly from behind the front desk. When you didn't respond she repeated herself a little more insistently.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak German," you apologized, fumbling for your phone. Maybe you could try to get a translating app… except you had no data here. You would never forgive Steve for doing this to you.

"Ah, American?" she switched, her smile growing wider, "I was asking if you were alright. Can I help you, miss?"

You breathed out a sigh that you didn't realize you had been holding and stepped up to the dark granite desk, "There should be a reservation under Rogers, Steven Rogers. I'm his guest, here in advance," you explained, hoping to whatever deity was looking down on you took pity on you for this one task.

The girl was silent for a while, typing various things into the computer, and as the seconds ticked by, you couldn't help but wonder what plan B would entail. Hopping on wifi and trying to facetime him? Camping out in the lobby until he showed up tomorrow? Walking the few blocks to Bucky's hotel and asking him to take you in? The fuck that was going to happen.

"There, I found it. I'm sorry for the wait, miss," the woman finally confirmed, scanning a keycard to program it, "Room 550, you can take the elevators you passed by at the doors."

You thanked her profusely before grabbing your bag, dragging it back towards the bank of stainless steel doors flanked by more dark granite. It was sad in a way but by this point, you had gotten used to the routine. Top floor suite with clean, modern touches. A gorgeous view of the courtyard out the window. You couldn't even be really impressed by the huge claw foot soaker tub that was standing in the middle of the bathroom. You let yourself collapse onto the impossibly soft white linens, eyes staring up at the molded medallion on the ceiling with a modest crystal chandelier hanging from the middle.

What was even the point of wallowing anymore? Everything you wanted was 600 miles away. Steve wasn't going to magically walk through the doors, you weren't magically going to be transported back to London. You just had to get on with it. In a few hours you would be right back here, snuggled up in bed after washing away the day in that huge bathtub. At least that was something to look forward to.

With a sigh, your eyes finally fell upon a dress hanging in the closet, something you hadn't noticed while you were making your way in. You padded across the room, setting your purse on the small couch at the sitting area. This must have been what Bucky had mentioned, the "dress and stuff" he had sent over. Black suede platform peep-toe pumps; red bottoms, of course. Louboutins. They only helped to set the tone of dread within you; knowing how much Bucky must have forked over for the shoes, the dress would be in that same league.

Your eyes rolled so far into the back of your head they actually hurt for a moment. "You gotta be shitting me," you murmured to yourself as your fingers traced the thick stripes, following the lines to the empty mesh spaces. Of course this would be what Bucky would pick. At least Steve let you retain some sense of modesty but this… It wasn't exactly slutty, or trashy really. It was just so not...you.

He at least did you the favor of sending some nude panties to wear with it. A bra was out of the question.

It was Balmain, like the first dress from Chicago, and had a similar silhouette: long, tight sleeves and a skirt that looked to hit at your mid-thigh. This one had a standard round neckline, a row of big, silver decorative buttons along the left shoulder seam, and an exposed silver zip up the back. All of that was fine. What wasn't fine was that the dress was formed by about two and a half inch strips of thick black fabric essentially wrapping around your frame, some running right next to each other to form an opaque panel where you needed to be decent. Where they didn't run together, the shape was held by transparent mesh, ensuring that there would be far more inches of exposed skin than you were comfortable. With a groan, you decided it was time to get ready and get this night over with.

Six panels from hip to hem, with some space between near the bottom, and three covering your tits. Your shoulders were more covered than your stomach. Your ass was barely covered; one wrong move and all of Berlin would get to see the goods, your only bit of gratitude being that they were still well-groomed from New York. Nylons were out of the question as the waistband would show, so it was just a few thin layers of fabric separating you from the world.

You tried to keep your makeup simple, a clean face with a nice cat eye and natural pink lips. You didn't want to give him too much to fuss about, didn't want him thinking you were doing more than the bare minimum. You did wear a pair of cheap rhinestone studs you had brought with and a high ponytail finished the look, letting a few wispy pieces frame your face and soften it all. Glancing in the mirror as you slipped on the shoes, you sighed. It was the perfect outfit for a third date in Vegas where you were hoping to get laid, not one for a date that you didn't want to happen at all. You couldn't help but wonder what Steve would be thinking about all of this, about this girl that was so far removed from the one he had gotten to know. Would he like this, this Spice Girl version of you, and not in a charming, driving around in a double-decker bus sort of way. But what was probably the more important question was did you like this version of you?

"No," you said aloud to your reflection, "But you've got a job to do... so play this part."

At 7 o'clock on the dot, the black town car pulled up to the doors. You steadied yourself with a breath as Bucky emerged from the back seat, hating that your heart picked up the pace at the sight of him. The asshole knew what he was doing, going for more casual gunmetal gray slacks and blazer with a tight black v-neck t-shirt underneath and comfortable black leather loafers. But the biggest transformation was the haircut he had obviously had between dropping you off and now. Gone were the stray bits of hair that just begged for you to sweep them back into place. His hair was now short on the sides but still had a little length on top, enough to allow him to have it styled and messed up just so, and he had opted to keep some of his scruff, just like Steve had the night before. The boyish charm that resulted in harmless flirting was gone. Bucky Barnes was ready to be taken seriously.

You watched him as you took a few steps out towards the car, signaling your presence and you could practically feel the fire light behind his eyes. To your surprise, he didn't give you his signature shit-eating grin and in fact, was that a blush rising up into his cheeks? There was no way he was actually being empathetic towards you. "You look very nice," he tried softly, his eyes meeting your own as he held a hand out to help you into the car.

"Thank you. You look handsome as well," you responded in kind, deciding that this night would go smoother and faster if you just stayed civil. He smirked to himself and looked away, allowing you to get into the back seat with just the smallest bit of modesty. He went around the car, getting in the other side next to you and closed the door, signaling that the driver could go. "The haircut is nice, too."

"It was a bit of an impulse decision, really," he recounted, pulling a hand through the shorter style, "The boyband look was starting to wear on me," and he shot a coy smile in your direction.

"Aww, I kinda like boybands," you mused, "I mean, I was pretty much in the middle of their prime demographic in the late '90s. I do have to say though that it was the hair that made me fall, not necessarily any singing ability."

"Oh, really? Justin's ramen noodle hair did it for you?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, "No, definitely not the ramen hair. You know that haircut that all the boys had back then? Middle part, ends right around the eyes? Hair curtains were very important to me growing up."

"Hair curtains? I had no idea that my laziness had a name," he laughed.

You sighed softly, lamenting how there was nothing blocking his steel-blue eyes anymore. "I guess hair curtains are still pretty important to me, but I think I'll live with this hair," and you instinctively reached up and twisted a piece back before you even realized what it was that you were doing.

His eyes caught yours again for a moment before you came back to your fucking senses. What fuck was that? Why was it that he could get to you like that? No matter how much you wanted to loathe and completely detest the guy, he always seemed to be able to get under your skin, to circumvent your brain. He just knew how to talk to make you forget your previous prejudices against him. Was this how he made his deals? By making people forget entirely how they felt about him? Was that why Steve kept him around?

"Hey," he started gently, his eyes going for his hands in his lap, "It's okay. I know you might think that I'm some bad guy but…" and he took a breath, bringing his eyes up a bit, "I really do just want to get to know you better."

It was hard to stay upset with him when his words felt so genuine. It was almost like two parts of your brain were fighting a war within you. You wanted this night to go nice and smooth, to make sure Bucky was happy and didn't have any thoughts of destroying Steve's business, and that mission was easier if you let yourself like him. But the other part of you couldn't help being mad at the man for everything, for the dress, for the flirting, for even suggesting this bullshit date in the first place. You wanted to punish him, to slap him some fucking sense into him. But if you really did that? Everything would be ruined.

You opened your mouth to say something but thought the better of it, simply letting a weak smile cross your lips.

"You don't need to be so guarded with me, okay? We're just talking about boybands," and he used a gentle finger to turn your face to his own. He had this look about him, with the smirk playing across his features, that he was trying to see through you, trying to see you as deeply as Steve could. But something about him just told you that he couldn't. Bucky was very very good at seeing the surface, no deeper. Which meant that you could do the one thing you could never do with Steve.

"I'll let myself relax, I promise. I trust you," you lied in your most honey-dipped voice.

The car pulled off onto the side of the road and you couldn't help but furrow your brow in confusion. It's not like you really knew what Bucky's plans were for the evening, but this just felt like the car had stopped at a random place in the city. You leaned forward in your seat, trying to get an idea of what was going on.

The door on Bucky's side opened and he stepped out, offering his hand to you, which you begrudgingly took. Heels and cobblestones rarely worked in your favor when combined. But as you sorted yourself out, you finally took in your surroundings.

The cream-white building opened up before you, the handsome courtyard throwing wide welcoming arms. The facade was illuminated so that everything had a warm glow and the central patina dome reached up to take its place in the sky. It was a little overwhelming, being that he had decided that of all the places to take you on a date in Berlin, Bucky had chosen Charlottenburg Palace.

"Oh god, please don't tell me you rented out the whole palace…" you groaned as the two of you crossed the courtyard. You couldn't decide which date was officially more over the top: this one or Steve at the Signature Room.

"Of course not, that's crazy," Bucky chuckled, holding open the door to the main foyer, "Why? Was that something I was supposed to do?"

"No, no. I'm glad you didn't," you responded, breathing a small sigh of relief inside. You couldn't really tell if Steve had shared with Bucky the details of that first date or your opposition to overly grand gestures, but you had a feeling that he hadn't. You allowed yourself to take a little bit of solace that Steve found some things as sacred as you did.

A concierge led the two of you down a long hall lined in fine fabrics and portraits, echoes and honors of people past. Kings, presidents, and dignitaries all fixed their eyes on you, silently judging as you passed. What would they think of all of this, of everything the world had come to in the past 300 years? Maybe it would be a familiar sight, a woman being used as a bargaining chip between two men. Surely there were arms dealers in the 1700s.

The hallway finally opened up to a ballroom, red and white checkered marble flooring dotted with intimate tables dressed in black and gold. The white stone walls had soft lighting to set the mood and a small quartet was getting warmed up on the far end. Most of the other tables had been seated at this point so the two of you were led to one near the back, the concierge pulling out your chair for you like a true gentleman.

"Dinner and a concert, how very impressive, Mr. Barnes," you commented, trying to be generous with your excitement.

'How many times am I going to have to ask you to call me Bucky?" he wondered with a cheeky grin that you had a hard time not matching.

"At least once more, Mr. Barnes." and you accepted the glass of wine the waiter offered to you, but nothing else, "... Are there not menus?"

Bucky took a sip of his drink, letting you settle into the surroundings, "No, they have a fixed menu tonight, the thought being that we are just supposed to let go and enjoy ourselves without the burden of choice."

"Ah," was all you could really get out. The burden of choice felt alarmingly deliberate on his part. If you weren't saddled with any decisions, then there wasn't anything to really be upset about, now was there? You certainly had zero choice in any of this anyway.

The quartet started playing a light, chipper opening song, pulling all the attention to them as each table was served its own charcuterie selection of meats, cheeses, and pates. Your stomach growled, realizing that you hadn't eaten properly since yesterday and mostly survived today on tea, coffee, and Percy Pigs. You built yourself the equivalent of a Lunchable with some prosciutto, cheese, and a water cracker and inhaled it, not really giving a shit how ladylike you were. Bucky watched the whole display with slightly confused amusement but didn't say anything, to his credit. You couldn't be sure what would have come out of your mouth in retort to a comment besides crumbs.

Swallowing thickly and washing your palate with the wine, you finally managed to ask the question that had been itching at the back of your head since you first met him in Chicago, "So why Romania?"

"Why not Romania?"

"I don't know, it just seems a little random for someone to want to settle there. But then again, I am woefully ignorant and don't know really anything about it," you mused as you made yourself another cracker.

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table as he caught your eyes in the dim light, his cool blue never really seeming to warm up as much as Steve's did, "I suppose you know that Stevie and I were old Army buddies," he started, waiting for a nod from you to continue, "Stevie was the golden child, even back then. Me? Not so much, I served my time and got the fuck out. Don't get me wrong, I liked a lot of what the Army afforded me; money, traveling, knowledge that has served me well in the years after." He paused for a moment, leaving room for you to acknowledge you were really listening. This whole dramatic telling of his past seemed well-practiced.

"So, why such a love/hate relationship?"

He looked away for a moment, smirking to himself, "Believe it or not, I don't really like being told what to do. And that's kinda Military 101. Stevie thrived in it, of course. He did everything he was told and then some, but I guess it's served him well; he taught me most of what I know about this business." You couldn't help but detect the slight venom in his voice when he talked of Steve. For two people who were supposed to be like brothers, you couldn't really figure out why the two of them put up with each other. Steve was a sore spot for Bucky, and Bucky made Steve's life hell.

"But the guy means the world to me and I owed him so when he asked me to help him with his business, I jumped at the chance. He started sending me around Europe and my father is Romanian, so I looked into my family there and found I could own property in his name. It makes a rather convenient landing spot when I'm traveling between cities, but I found I love the people there. I just feel like I'm home," he finished and you nodded in understanding, filing that little bit of info that Bucky owed Steve something in the past away in your brain.

"That's really fortunate that you've found a place to carve out as your own," you breathed, "I would love to be able to do that."

"But you love Chicago, don't you?"

"I do, don't get me wrong. Chicago is amazing and I'm proud to live there, but it's not my home, not really."

"So? Why don't you move?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't. I'm okay with my life in Chicago…" you started, your brain kicking into the long list of why you would never be able to move to London. Money being right at the top of that list.

He sighed softly across the table, pulling your attention back to him, "There's always going to be a thousand reasons why you shouldn't do something. You just need to hold onto the one reason you should."

That was something you had told yourself so many times in your life when you were younger, but as you took on more responsibility, grew up more, that mantra had fallen away from your memory. But what was keeping you in Chicago anymore? You had lost your job, your lease was up in a few months, you now had more money than you ever had in your life. Your family? They would understand and be more than willing to come to visit if you had a flat of your own. Steve? Was Steve reason enough to stay? Would he let himself feel what you needed him to feel in order to keep you?

You met Bucky's eyes across the table, the dim light making his eyes sparkle like you had seen them do before, "That's very, very true, Bucky. Maybe it's something to look into when we get back," and you finished off your glass of wine.

"So, why Germany? Why are we all here for a gallery opening?" you had to ask since no one cared to explain what arms dealing had anything to do with art.

"Ah, you can thank Pepper for that. She's on the board of trustees and thought it might help raise the profile for the industry, bring it out of seedy back bar dealings and into a more refined and legitimate space."

You raised your eyebrows at that. Being that she probably still didn't know what really went on at Tony's party, it was a little presumptuous of her to try and drag this boys club out into the open. At least the skeezy old men who spent their retirement on the strippers wouldn't love having to spend deals with their wives.

The waiters quickly cleared away the charcuteries and replaced them with the main course: what looked like what would be pork wellington, with roasted potatoes and cabbage. You had heard German food wasn't exactly light or delicate, but at this rate, you would be lucky if the dress didn't end up splitting at a seam.

"Now, can I ask you a question?" he inquired, clearly feeling like the night was going well, "Before I royally put my foot in my mouth in New York, how did you feel about me?"

You smirked to yourself through cutting up your meal. What was with these military men and their loaded questions? If he remembered that night as clearly as you did, then he would have his answer.

"I think you know, Bucky."

"I still like hearing you say it."

You rolled your eyes but had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling at his flattery. "I liked you. I enjoyed talking with you very much that night in Chicago."

"Just talking?"

"I thought we already established that I really liked your boyband hair curtains," and he sat back in his chair, the tip of his thumb between his teeth but his eyes not leaving yours, "I don't think it's any secret in our shared circles how I feel about Steve, but I think if some circumstances were different, then I wouldn't have been opposed to exploring our past mutual attraction." It wasn't worth trying to hide the fact that you had been attracted to him from the first time you had met him. But still, that attraction didn't erase how he made you feel in New York or how you felt about Steve.

Bucky chuckled into his glass, shaking his head slightly, "I don't think it's that far past."

"You're different from Steve," you continued, choosing to ignore his comment, "Steve is…. Magnetic in his own way, but you're looser. Fun. You like to get as much as you give and you're a flirt. I liked seeing what reaction I could get out of you. That's not something I can really do with Steve. Don't get me wrong, he's an amazing guy and my life is forever changed for having met him but-"

"Could we not talk about Steve?" Bucky cut you off, his eyes slowly losing that sparkle as he listened to you ramble on. You silently chewed on a potato, now keenly aware that you were talking about another man on this date. Probably just as bad as talking about your ex.

"I'm sorry, I don't have service here so I haven't talked to him since we left London," you apologized, trying to pull the focus back to him, "So tell me, Mr. Barnes, how did you feel about me?"

The sparkle returned as his eyes roamed over your curves that were visible from his side of the table and you let him get his own eyeful, "My feelings for you haven't changed, no matter how much of a forbidden fruit you are."

Averting your eyes, you had to bite the inside of your cheek again. Part of you really wanted to hate how obvious he was being but the bigger part of you couldn't help but enjoy it. It was exhausting always wondering what was going on in Steve's head, how exactly he felt about you, especially when Bucky was sitting across from you being honest about his feelings. Not that you wanted anything more to happen, the opposite really. But it was always nice to know that you were wanted.

The conversation flowed easier, the final wine being paired with a warm vanilla mousse with raspberry compote that was heavenly. He continued to flatter you by listening to your stories of college debauchery, almost on par with what they would get up to on the Army base. You thought it was borderline cruel that he cut holes in all the underwear of the new recruits, all of them being forced to spend half a day sewing up their standard-issue while buck naked. He found it hilarious that you had your roommate help tie you into a corset for Rocky Horror while she was dressed as a nun.

"I wouldn't mind seeing you in a corset though…" and he swept a hand through his shortened locks, your fingers inexplicably itching to do the same.

"I'll make sure to add it to the list of dress requirements."

"Oh, please do. You'll have all of us eating out of your hands," he begged as the quartet finished, signaling the end of the dinner. Graciously accepting his outstretched hand as you stood up, the two of you made your way out of the palace, the cobblestones still not being your best friend. You had done it. You had made it through the whole date without throwing a dagger straight for his chest and even found that you enjoyed parts of it. Bucky was a fun date, a more normal date, which was a nice reprieve of always feeling the pressure to be perfect for Steve.

Bucky let you get into the car first, sliding into the back next to you, a little closer than he had been on the way over. "Seriously though, if you need me to host the next party just for an excuse for you to wear a corset, I'll take that bullet."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up into your throat, "I'm sure I'll find a way to work it onto the wardrobe. And when I wear it, it can be our little secret."

Bucky smirked confidently at you, letting his arm settle over your shoulders for the rest of the short ride back to the hotels. If he was happy, then Steve was happy, and you were happy. It was only for a few hours. You had endured worse.

The car pulled up in front of a different hotel; this one must have been Bucky's, and you looked around, a bit confused. "Oh, um, I guess I can walk, my hotel is only a few blocks from here." It wasn't really cold, even with the lack of dress and your feet were surprisingly okay, being that you barely stood all night. Your body nearly vibrated with excitement at the thought of that huge bathtub that was just waiting for you to get back.

Bucky caught your eye as you sat in the car, looking at you through the open door. But there was something different behind them, something darker than anything you had seen before. And he was still smiling, but it wasn't giving off the cheeky, warm vibe you usually got from him. "Oh, sweetheart, the date isn't over yet. Come upstairs."


	12. Bonus Chapter - Blinding Lights

A/N: I toyed with holding onto this until the series finished but decided to release it now. Having this knowledge seems to make chapter 12 more impactful. Thanks for reading!

Why was she making this harder than it already was?

It was the ultimate Rock and a Hard Place. Sacrifice the company he had built from the ground up, or push her away. Both were unacceptable, but one was just a little more unacceptable. Steve refused to let his whole world burn down around him without trying anything, everything to make sure that it kept spinning.

"It's one date, that's all he wants." And that's all it was. One date. Dates didn't mean shit. People went on one date all the time. And he had known the guy for years, Bucky wouldn't fuck with her. Not if he didn't want to get hurt.

She said she wanted to help. Was enthusiastic about it even. Tried to seduce Klaue, a notorious psychopath who was unhinged and made that room into a powder keg of egos for his own amusement. Steve was slightly relieved that she had failed. The thought of her actually having to follow through with Klaue was too much for his brain to handle right at this moment.

This, right here, this moment of vulnerability. Terror coursing through his veins, but he didn't know what he was more afraid of.

Her back was turned to him nearly the entire night. Before, this wasn't a deterrent. A kiss on her shoulder or neck, an arm around her waist, and her touch was enough to turn him on. But now, now it was a wall. It was a wall that he would never be able to navigate over, one that he couldn't just reach out to break down. But now more than ever his head needed to be at the forefront of everything. Backup plans and strategies danced around his exhausted brain, trying to imagine every possible scenario that could happen in the next 24 hours. It was only when he turned himself from her that he could have a few precious minutes of sleep. He felt her get out of bed and heard the sound of the shower, his eyes watching the sunrise slowly over the courtyard that the window faced.

Why did this hurt so much?

He finally woke up, the sunrise now a cloudy, gray morning. Seemed apt. His hand reached out behind him only to find cold and empty sheets, his ears adjusting to the sound of the TV on in the other room. She had gone to the living room, leaving him to have to wake up on his own. And in that moment, his heart sank lower than the ground floor. Waking up alone didn't suit him anymore. As he rolled over onto his back, the guilt trickled in, the cracks in his armor starting to show.

She had woken up like this more than a few times, and during times when she knew he was upset. Did she have that same pause, that same moment of fear that everything was about to fall apart? He had watched her the morning before when he sat at the table enjoying his coffee. He had watched as her hand moved under the covers, reaching out for his ghost, and the way it stopped once she realized he wasn't there. He pretended to ignore her when her eyes shot open searching for any sign that he was still around. He allowed her to have that moment of watching him, letting her mind ease and her face go soft. But by the sounds in the next room, she wasn't going to welcome him with bright eyes this morning.

Finally, he rolled out of bed, combing back his unkempt hair with just his fingers as he slid his feet into the waiting slippers. His bleary eyes focused on her, laying across the couch, her feet tucked up under his robe that she was wearing. She was watching some horrible early morning show, hair still slick from the shower. It was so different from the night before when she was the peak of seduction, but even now, she was no less beautiful.

"Morning," Steve mumbled, announcing his presence in a way that seemed to convey how he felt right now. Shuffling into the room, he knew she would be expecting a good morning kiss, but something inside of him couldn't bring himself to do that. Accountability, maybe. But he told himself that she was going on her own accord; he would never threaten or control her, so it felt a bit more complicated than that. Protection, possibly, for her and for himself. Now just wasn't going to be a good time to let his heart take the lead. No need to get her hopes up.

But as he took a seat on the couch, his arms moved of their own will, gathering her up so that her head found it's spot on his chest. The warmth of her skin against his own burned in a way, branding this pain inside of him. Running his fingers through her hair soothed him, her gentle breaths across his chest, the smell of her shampoo numbed him in the best way. And there, in that intimacy, neither of them tried for more. Neither of them needed anything more.

Sure, he held an affection for her. She had grown on him. He had gotten used to her being around, making the days easy and relaxed. Of course he wanted to make love to her; who wouldn't, she was attractive. But if they couldn't, if she never wanted to, Steve had found that he was okay as long as she was still there. She had a way of making everything okay. Everything except this. At least she would try her damn best.

It was an asshole move but he knew he couldn't go see her off at the airport. If he went, he wouldn't let her go alone. Maybe she shouldn't go alone, maybe he should come with, even if he just stayed in the hotel while she and Bucky went out. But his brain beat back his emotions again, scolding him for even thinking that.

_There's work to be done here._

Which was true. The list of safety nets that he had thought of while not sleeping needed to be worked through. Calls needed to be made, contracts scrutinized, lawyers consulted, and all of that would be made even harder by being another time zone away. No, it was clear that Steve had to stay in London for today.

But he did indulge his emotions once. He would be on the first flight out tomorrow morning.

"Her car just left. ETA 20 minutes. Everything good there?" Steve texted Bucky, his mind idling despite the growing list of calls he needed to make. He could barely focus on typing out the message to Buck, let alone typing out a coherent email.

This was going to be a very cold and empty night.

"Cool. Plane's ready when she gets here," flashed in his notifications.

Steve breathed a little, letting his anxieties die down inside of him. "Hey, if you want… I usually book her some spa time before she gets ready. She seems to really like those mud mask facials and a shoulder massage," he typed out. Even if this dinner wasn't with him, she deserved to be treated like the absolute queen that she was. Probably even better than how Steve had been treating her.

"Thanks for the tip."

Two hours had passed and Steve hadn't moved from the couch much more than running down the supermarket to grab a sandwich. He had thought that the walk would clear his head a bit, allow his brain room to start forming thoughts that had more substance than "What did I do?" All it really did was soak him to the bone, rain pissing down on the city.

Texts were sitting on "Not Delivered," calls going straight to voicemail. Not that he had any right to ask anything more than if the flight was okay and if the hotel was nice. Still, he couldn't help the sinking feeling that hearing her voice would help ease his soul. So he did the next best thing he could think of.

"Hey, Buck. I'm glad your phone still works there," Steve said as his best friend picked up after a few rings, "So you guys got there okay? She get settled in?"

"Yeah, man, just dropped her off at the hotel. She's fine," Bucky explained, "We're just going to dinner tonight, nothing crazy."

Steve made a face to himself as he listened. Bucky didn't help her get checked in? "She doesn't speak German. Are you sure she's okay?"

Bucky's sigh came from the other side, "I'm sure she figured it out, Steve. If you're worried, call the damn hotel."

"Look, Buck…"

But Bucky interrupted, "She's fine, Rogers. She'll be with me tonight. I'm not going to let anything happen to her."

"I know." Of course, she would be more than safe. He was being ridiculous, she was a grown woman, she could handle herself. Still, there was something in the pit of his stomach, something he just couldn't shake. "And Buck? Remember the deal. Get to know her, that's it."

It was silent for a little too long on the other end before Bucky said, "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Steve," and the line went dead.

A little less than reassuring, that was for sure.

But Buck did have a point. There wasn't anything to worry about that couldn't wait for tomorrow, once he was over there. There was more pressing stuff to handle right now. With a sigh, he scrolled through his contacts to find his lawyer.

Maybe once all this chaos and uncertainty was over, maybe once his company was saved, Steve could allow himself to be in love.


	13. Chapter 12 - Rainy Day

WARNINGS: Language, lots and lots of it. Assault and partial non-con. Mentions of r*pe and use of the word. Heavy threats and manipulation. This is a VERY Mature chapter. Please consider this your formal warning.

A/N: If you choose to not read this chapter (for obvious reasons, I completely understand) but are a fan of the story, please let me know. I can write up a non-graphic synopsis so that you can be caught up for the next chapter and not miss out. Thanks for reading!

When you didn't immediately respond, mostly from shock, he backtracked, "I just don't feel like our conversation was finished. Come up and have a drink," and he gave you that sly smile.

It certainly had felt like the conversation was over, being that the two of you drove back to the hotel in comfortable silence. You breathed a small sigh of relief but softly shook your head, "Thank you, Bucky, but I'm a bit tired. It's been a long day."

"Come on, just come on up," he insisted, "No one wants to drink alone."

"I wouldn't have a drink anyway," you retorted, a little confused as to his insistence.

The smile slipped from his lips as he turned them down, his eyes steely cold. "Come upstairs or I'll call Steve and tell him that you left to go back home as soon as we touched down in Berlin."

Your breath caught in your throat, the words hitting your brain like so many bullets, just as you had dreamed. "You wouldn't dare," slipped from your lips, the words shaky but determined.

He used the pad of his thumb to wipe something away from the corner of his lip, his head turning elsewhere but he still fully addressed you, "You let it slip that you hadn't talked to him yet since you left this afternoon, so he has no idea where you are."

"But he could call the hotel and confirm that I checked in…" you thought out loud.

"That doesn't mean that you didn't catch a cab and got the next flight out right after…" he reasoned with a casual coolness that had little indication of his attempt at extortion, "It would be a perfect coverup and you're a smart enough girl to make a plan like that."

Everything in you was screaming and yet the world was silent around you. You wanted to bolt, to slip out the other door, take off the shoes, and run as fast as you could back to your hotel. To pack what you could and actually take a cab to the airport and go back to London, find Steve and tell him everything, tell him how horrible his friend? Employee? Partner? Was.

But as the screaming inside of you died down, you were left with the one phrase that had permeated the entire evening, like rain on your wedding day.

_He needs to be kept happy._

You thought you had done that job, thought that the night had gone exceedingly well and that everyone could report tomorrow of the success. Guess that wasn't going to happen.

"What'll it be, doll? Me or your Golden Boy, the guy who sold you out?"

Bastard. You knew it in your gut that you couldn't trust the asshole but you tried, you tried so hard to believe that he had positive intent. He designed it all the moment he laid eyes on you at Klaue's party; the whole apology, the whole ruse of "getting to know each other, for Steve's sake" was all part of a plan to get to this moment right here. He had manipulated everyone, including you.

"I don't have all fucking night."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes but you refused to fucking cry in front of the son of a bitch. It wasn't sadness, you didn't pity yourself. It was frustration and anger, the fact that the central theme of dinner had now woefully soaked through to everything else. You didn't have the burden of choice.

With a deep breath, you steadied your fight or flight response and reluctantly gave him your hand to help you out of the car.

"Good girl…" he purred and the sound made your skin crawl, "See, at least with me you know that I actually give a shit about you."

"Please don't call me that," you insisted as he slapped the top of the car, allowing the driver to pull away.

He didn't respond as the two of you made your way through the lobby. It looked to be a very fine hotel, a bit more vintage European with the red and cream marble floors and the bright cherry wood pillars than Steve's ultramodern tastes, but in the same caliber. At this time of night, the lobby was all but abandoned, however, there was still a good amount of people checking out the bar. Fishing his keycard from his wallet, the elevator allowed the two of you access and it quickly whisked you up to nearly the top floor.

You couldn't help but wonder if Bucky paid for this out of his own pocket or if he was charging the room to a business account, knowing damn well the business was in trouble. It was a suite, a bit bigger than the one you were staying in, although it was all one room. Next to the door was a lovely built-in that had an assortment of drink amenities on display. The cream and red theme continued into this space, most of the furniture having those tones, accented by deep cherry wood. A purely decorative loveseat and a few high backed chairs separated this into a living space, while a dark wooden king-sized bed was arranged against the wall. It would be a fine enough hotel room, but not exactly your style.

"Scotch?" Bucky asked, pulling your attention back to him. He had shrugged off his suit jacket as soon as the two of you entered the room, draping it on the back of one of the chairs.

"I would be happy to have a drink with you down at the bar," you answered, trying to keep the sound of your voice casual.

He made a face as he turned back towards you, "But I already poured myself one here."

You simply nodded, sighing to yourself.

Maybe Bucky wouldn't be despicable. Maybe he really did just want to talk and the conversation was easier when there were drinks involved. But as his eyes met yours from across the room, his lips wet from the scotch, you knew all of that wishful thinking was bullshit. Even you weren't that naive. You knew perfectly well what he wanted when he asked you up here, and you knew you had one job this entire evening.

He needs to be kept happy.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked casually, leaning back against the built-in, a hand in his pocket. The pose was reminiscent of Steve leaning back against his counter, that first time you went to his house. Life seemed so simple back then.

"Home," you responded, clasping your hands politely in front of you.

"Home?"

"Yeah," you sighed, deciding to lean into this lie, "How pretty the sunsets are in the summer when the river goes golden. Maybe when I get back I can get a job in the Loop, one that has roof access so I can go up whenever I want. That might be nice, something to look forward to."

Bucky took a few steps towards you, taking a drink before asking, "You wouldn't stay with Steve? Work for him?"

You tilted your head down, trying to hide your twinge of embarrassment, "I think we both know that I'm not cut out for arms dealing. I proved that last night." You wouldn't want to be with Steve as an employee anyway. You never wanted to be on his payroll.

"But I think you could be, you just didn't have the right teacher…" he interrupted your thoughts and you looked back up, realizing that he was now standing right in front of you. Even with your heels on you had to tilt your head slightly to look him in the eye. Still, even then, it didn't feel like he was looking down on you.

"You?"

"It's not the worst idea, is it?" and he reached up to scratch the back of his head, letting his shirt rise just above the waistband of his slacks, giving the slightest view of his abs that he surely didn't miss your eyes sneaking a peek, "Work for me, live in Europe, anywhere you want," and he set his glass down on a side table.

You had to admit, it was an enticing offer. Not that you would ever seriously entertain it. Bucky certainly had his charms, those sparkling eyes and a devilish grin that made your stomach flutter. But you weren't going to leave Steve; you wanted to be with him, just not work for him. There was deeper chemistry there, more than just biology.

"I know I can teach you a thing or two…" and his strong, calloused fingers delicately pulled your hands apart. He held the right one with both of his own, teasing your skin with just a touch before he gently placed your palm under the hem of his shirt, flat against the dips of his abs. The skin that laid just under your touch was soft, giving way to the hard muscle underneath, the very same ones you got a glimpse of that morning in New York. You swallowed hard, your brain screaming to pull away but finding that you just couldn't.

That you didn't want to.

"And you know there won't be any bullshit with me," his deep baritone resonated in your ears, sending a spark down your spine, igniting in your core. Were you really that starved?

He reached a hand out, gently sweeping a stray hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His warm palm cupped your cheek and you couldn't help leaning your head into it. But when the pad of his thumb lightly brushed along your bottom lip, your body stiffened. The tips of your fingers crooked, your nails pressing into his flesh, but that only seemed to spur him on more, the smirk forming on his lips as his eyes went to your own. The adrenaline and anxiety rushed through your veins, cold as ice, and the breath hitched in your lungs as he brought that smirk to your ear, his free hand resting on your hip.

"He's what you want. I'm what you need."

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt his lips on yours, your brain reeling from the moment. You were doing everything you could to save everything, to save this fragile world that you had become a part of. But if you pushed him away, if you stopped now and walked away, this whole night would be for nothing. At worst, he would burn the world down. At best… it would be your word against his, and his held a lot more weight. Would Steve understand? Or would he be angry at your betrayal?

Pulling your hips to his own, it was impossible to not lay your palm flat against him again, hating yourself for the basic reaction your body was having to his dominance. Your head started to feel cloudy the longer he kissed you, how his tongue played against your bottom lip and you could taste the scotch from moments before. Could you really do this? Did you really have a choice?

His hand fisted the hem of your dress, squeezing your ass in the process, and your gasp was all the opportunity he needed to deepen the kiss. Your left hand joined your right under his shirt, indulging themselves along the orbit of his hips, finding all the smooth cuts between each muscle. It was sickening how much you enjoyed his body, how it was leaner, thinner than what you had become accustomed to but it could still get you going. Your lips fought for dominance with his, refusing to just let yourself be had and his shirt went up and over his head.

Forcing you to take a few steps backwards, you were pinned between the wall and Bucky, his lips exploring the flesh of your neck. An instinctive moan escaped your throat and you immediately wished you could take it back. Were you actually enjoying this? You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't; he may be a grade-a asshole but damn if he didn't know how to use those lips. A free hand moved down your thigh, pulling your leg to hitch up on his hip as he let those teeth drag along your jawline. "Leave the heels on…" he murmured and you could only whimper in compliance as his other hand wedged itself against your back, slowly tugging down the zipper of the dress.

It felt not unlike a wall coming down, but not in a comfortable way. Steve had snuck his way in, dismantled it from the inside while showing you that there was power in your vulnerability. You never wanted to keep him out. But as the rough knitted fabric fell down, Bucky essentially took away your last wall, your last defense you could cling to. A visible chill ran through you. It had been a long time since anyone had seen you in this state. Not even Steve had gone this far.

His steeled eyes drank your form in, the heat rising to your skin more and more with every moment that he lingered. Maybe if he looked long enough, he would decide that you were disgusting and he didn't want to fuck you. Maybe you would get off easy. "Fucking hell…" and your soft curves conformed to his toned chest as his lips were on your own again. Guess not.

But something was bothering you about it all, something that was always there but always seemed to get drowned out. This time it was refusing to be pushed down, refusing to give itself up, refusing to not be heard even as Steve's words rattled around in your head. What did you want? Bucky certainly wasn't what you needed. And it finally stood up, screaming into your ear so loudly you turned your head, breaking the kiss and Bucky's hands moving over your hips, playing with the waistband of your panties.

"No."

It was a split second but he stopped, his body stiffening at the sound of your voice, so you knew he heard you. Once the moment passed though he kept going, pulling your hips to his own so you were forced to feel the unmistakable reaction he was having to you.

"Mr. Barnes, please, stop," you begged, keeping your head turned to avoid him capturing your lips again. What Steve wanted, what Bucky wanted, none of that fucking mattered anymore. Not when you had to give up what you wanted.

"C'mon, don't be such a tease. What Steve doesn't know won't hurt him…" he growled into your ear but you managed to move your hands back up, wedging them between your torso and his.

"I said no," and you pushed him off of yourself, using all the strength you had to remove him off of your body. The sudden cool air sent goosebumps all over your skin but it didn't matter, your anger was white-hot. Bucky stared into the empty space between the two of you for a moment, his lips wet and swollen, parted slightly in disbelief while he processed. By the time his eyes met your own again, your arms were already back into the sleeves of the dress, reaching behind you to zip what you could for modesty.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he spit out, no false pretense on his face, "Don't be such an uptight bitch, you're not saving anyone by taking the fucking moral high ground." His hair disheveled, cheeks red from anger, his eyes cold and cruel. This is what Bucky was like when he didn't get what he wanted.

You swallowed thickly, wrapping your shaking fingers around the handle of the door. You weren't being stupid, you were sure of it. "I am, Mr. Barnes. I'm saving me."

"You're fucking him over, you know that? You're destroying him," he yelled as you opened the door for your escape, "If Steve actually gave a shit about you, he never would have pushed you to me in the first place."

But his words wouldn't get a rise out of you. The door clicked closed as you took a breath, lungs filling with air for what seemed to be the first time in a long time.

_THUD_

And you jumped, letting out a small scream. It sounded like a fist hitting next to the doorway, like if he punched hard enough he could reach right through the wall and grab you. Practically running down the hall, you smashed the buttons on the elevator, ran back through the lobby, and didn't stop running until you were back in your hotel room.

Your head was pounding, stomach nauseous, legs aching from the run. You slowly slid to the floor, your brain finally beginning to process the immediate past.

Bucky tried to rape you. Bucky did assault you. He manipulated the situation, coerced you, and made it feel like you couldn't say no. And you got lucky, and the fact that you knew that was what made your stomach turn. Lucky that you were still in a position where you could push him away, lucky that he didn't use his strength against you, lucky that he didn't get violent (at least towards you.)

You pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes, completely destroying your makeup, but you didn't care. The night had gone so well, so much better than you ever thought it would. Dare you say it? You had a good time. The conversation was interesting and fun, the food was good, it was a nice atmosphere. Bucky had done really well. And then it all fell apart. The whole illusion shattered. He mistook kindness for flirtation and flirtation for attraction, using your heart against you when he thought you were weak. Just because you couldn't hold a fucking gun, it didn't make you weak.

With a deep breath, you finally stood, leaving the shoes haphazardly on the floor in front of the door. Next came the dress, pooling into a pile near the bed, and you pulled your hair down from the tight ponytail, trying to find some relief for the headache. The thought of doing anything right now was too exhausting, but the thought of getting into the bed was daunting. You wouldn't be sleeping, you knew that. You couldn't sleep. With adrenaline-weary fingers, you pulled the thick comforter from the bed, wrapping it around your head and shoulders as you settled in on the couch, legs tucked up under you. Your cocoon.

What time was it? It had to be late, or early, depending on where you stood on the matter. You had no idea how long the two of you had been at dinner, how long you were at his hotel, how long it took you to run back here. It felt like time fucking stopped, the only indication that any had passed being that the sky was a shade of purplish-gray instead of pitch fucking black.

Were you the only one? Or were there others? It was fucking torture to think about, to try and figure out if this was a habitual occurrence for Bucky or if you were the exception. Honestly, they were both fucking terrible. He was probably fast fucking asleep in his hotel, not even a little guilt in his brain about what he did to you, just angry that he didn't get off tonight. He didn't care about you. Nobody fucking cared about you.

No one cared about you.

No one cared what you wanted.

They only cared about what you could do for them.

And it felt like glass flowed into your veins.

With each passing second your anger rose, your body practically buzzing from your blood boiling. Bucky. Steve. What was the fucking difference anymore?

Bucky assaulted you, there was no denying that. But Steve, Steve put you up for it in the first place. He knew all along what Bucky was capable of and still begged you to go, begged you to "keep him happy." And you almost fucking did it, not giving a shit about what you wanted, not listening to you, not hearing you when you said No. And yet, you did it, you put yourself up to be played with by these men, never giving a second thought to what you wanted. Because you just wanted Steve. You just wanted to make Steve happy.

But he didn't want the same for you. He never did. All he wanted was for you to make him look good.

The tears stung in your eyes but you refused to cry, refused to let this wrath and sadness be released just yet.

And the thunder rolled outside the window.

Hours passed, they must have, and the rain pounded the pavement outside. You stayed on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket, barely moving, just waiting. Exhausted, starving, any one of your basic needs were begging for attention, but anger was fueling you right now. You had half a mind to head to the airport and leave, but you needed to save money. After all, you wouldn't be making any more. And you wanted to see Steve.

Maybe he wouldn't show up. Maybe he realized after you left how he completely fucked you over and got the first plane back to the states. Like the fucking coward he was. Or maybe he was having such a good time without your incessant girlfriend nagging that he wasn't going to get to Berlin until just before the gallery opening. Well, he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.

Your eyes flicked to the lock box on the door, the electronic gears shifting as it unlocked from the other side. Steve opened the door wide, his duffle bag strapped across his chest, hair wet from the storm. Your fingers itched to grab one of the shoes and fling it in his general direction as he walked into the room, but it was too out of reach from your cocoon on the couch. He hung his sunglasses on the collar of his plain white t-shirt as his eyes met yours. He didn't sleep well, you could tell. Good.

"Hey," he tried, setting the duffle down next to a chair. His eyes swept slowly around the room, taking in the chaotic scene, trying to get a read of the room. When you didn't afford him the same pleasantries, he fell back onto small talk, "It's pissing down out there. Did the same in London yesterday, must be the same system…"

The fucking weather.

You still didn't respond, enjoying how he squirmed with the rising awkwardness between the two of you. "Hopefully it'll let up before the event tonight."

"Yeah," was all you said. You had made up your mind hours ago that you would still go tonight, but only as to not embarrass Shuri. Everyone else could go to hell, as far as you were concerned.

"Buck said that last night went well," he said as he kneeled on the floor, fishing in his bag for something and your jaw clenched. His fingers pulled out a long, white envelope and it felt like your heart turned to stone in your chest. You met his eyes as he looked up at you, the envelope between the two of you. When you saw relief behind the blue, it took everything in you to swallow down the bile that rose up into your throat, "But he said you left before he could pay you, so he gave it to me to give to you."

And that was the straw that broke everything inside of you. Never had you been so completely devastated, so sure of how someone really felt about you than that moment. Bucky had been right all along. Steve didn't care about you. Taking a breath, you tried your best to keep your voice steady, "You went and saw him first?" It came out quiet, shaken, small. That's how you felt in his presence. Small.

Your question was enough to destroy the relief in Steve's eyes. This was just one more fuck up on his laundry list of wrongs he had inflicted upon you in the past three days. But that pain just added itself to everything else, taking your small voice and amplifying it. You were not small.

"You didn't want to come here first and see if I was even here? If I was okay?"

"Why wouldn't you be okay…" The confusion trickled into his face but all it did was make him look pathetic. Steve was smart enough to know why you were beyond furious.

"Why did you make me go with him, Steve?" you asked, your voice on a dangerous edge, no longer shaking as you found your power, "Why is it that you put your fucking company before the people in your life? Before people who care about you and not about the fucking money! What will it fucking take for you to get it through your fucking head, Steve?"

He looked like a deer in headlights as your voice raised above the sound of the storm, still kneeling in front of you with the envelope limp in his hand. It would almost be a sad scene if you wanted to consider how he was feeling. But he never gave you that courtesy, and you were so far gone to try to show mercy.

"I'm sorry. I knew as soon as you left that you shouldn't be going, but…" he started.

"But what? What excuse could you possibly have, because that sentence should have ended with 'I shouldn't be going.' You should have stopped the car, or stopped the plane in the time that it took to get me to the airport. Or even called Bucky and told him the deal was off. You could have fucking gotten on a plane and come here to the hotel before I even started getting ready!"

"I know…"

"There was plenty of fucking time, Steve. Tons of it, tons of times that you chose to not do anything when you could have done something to try to make it right. But instead you didn't. _You_ chose to make _your_ world right.

"And now? Now you finally get your ass to Berlin and instead of coming to see if I was okay, if I was even here, you go and see your fucking rapist friend first!"

You didn't remember standing up, but you must have gotten to your feet at some point, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. Your words hung in the air for a moment before they settled onto Steve's head, fear mixing with the guilt behind his eyes.

"What?"

Your heart was in your throat, tears threatening but you refused to let them fall. You swallowed it all down, the pain turning into more ammunition. "He really told you that it went well and you believed him? Then I guess he left out the parts where he threatened to tell you that I left the country if I didn't come back up to his room with him. Or the part where he offered for me to come work for him and learn the business, leaving you with nothing. Or when he said that you sold me out to him," and you reached down, snatching the envelope out of Steve's hand, each word you spoke driving more pain into him, "But my personal favorite was when he pinned me against the wall and got me nearly fucking naked before I could push him off of me and run away.

Tired of all the shouting, your voice nearly broke, "He wouldn't take No for an answer…. And neither did you, Steve. You just gave me to him, like I meant nothing."

You couldn't look at him and he just stared into the void between the two of you. You didn't even want to try to guess what was going on in his head at this moment. Your head was pounding, the headache returning full force now that some of your anger had finally spilled out. Your body was tired, your mind numb, and there was nothing else that anyone could say to make anything okay again.

"I'm so sorry…" he tried in a small voice, his eyes raising up to you, but you could only shake your head, taking the money from the envelope and counting it. The amount made you want to vomit.

"I will still go tonight," you started in a normal but forceful tone, "But to be perfectly clear, it is not to save you from any embarrassment. Shuri and her brother would like to meet you, that is why I am going. But as soon as we land back in Chicago, I am done. I am out. I don't want to be in your world anymore, Steve. I am not your sugarbaby, I am definitely not a prostitute or someone you can just give to your friends for dates, and I never fucking wanted the money," and you threw the $10,000 down at his knees.

The words came rushing out before you could process what you were saying, but once they hit, you knew them to be true. You never wanted to be "in" in the first place, not really. You agreed to accompany him because you wanted something different in your life and Steve offered excitement and attention. But more and more, as you got deeper and deeper, you had lost yourself, who you considered yourself to be. You weren't timid or scared, you spoke your mind and stood your ground. You barely knew the girl you saw in the mirror the night before. You never wanted to be her.

But as your resignation registered with him, he seemed to steel, clenching his jaw while he tidied up the money. Slowly, he stood from his spot, his full height against your own in bare feet, but you refused to let him look down on you. You were right and you knew it.

"Okay," he breathed, nodding slightly, "Tonight will be the last. We'll go home tomorrow."

His agreement took away the last of your immediate fury, letting in the rest of what you had been holding back. Turning away, you left him in the living room, dropping the comforter near the foot of the bed as you made your way into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

Turning on the taps, you let the sound of the filling bathtub drown out the sound of your sobs.


	14. Chapter 13 - (After)Life of the Party

Chapter 13 - The (After)Life of the Party

The bathtub was as glorious as you had hoped it would be. You treated yourself to the various salts and oils that were for purchase on the counter (to be added to the room's bill) and soaked away all the physical pains from the night before. The emotional ones, well, those were going to take a little more to ease away.

Part of you knew in your heart that all this was over. The kisses, the looks and small touches, all of that would be gone. And, for self-preservation, you wanted to believe that it had been over from the start. You were desperate to tell yourself that Steve never cared, that he had always been this cruel and manipulative. But, you were exhausted from lying to yourself. Yes, Steve had been manipulative, letting you think you got your way but finding a loophole, making you feel guilty about having to go to work instead of spending time with him, pushing the money and the boundaries of the agreement onto you while blatantly disregarding the parts that he didn't like. You weren't saying that Steve hadn't been an asshole.

But you couldn't lie to yourself that you had been the only one invested in this relationship. From the start, it was always Steve who made the moves, who wanted to see you, who liked having you around for more than just to be his arm candy at events. He could have easily kept you away, only asking you out when he needed someone pretty to show off. But he didn't. And there was absolutely no denying the last few days, the way that he acted, the way that both of you felt. He looked at you differently, he saw you differently, and his drawing was evidence that even when he had quiet moments where his brain could go literally anywhere, it still went to you.

But that was only four days. It didn't erase his past with you. And it wasn't enough for him to fall for you. When it came time for Steve to show his cards and where his loyalties lie, he chose himself. He would always choose himself.

It was painful to think of it in those certain terms, but you figured it was better to realize who he really was now than to let this go on any longer. Steve Rogers was selfish. He always had been and he always would be. That was probably why he had such a lucrative business up until now.

Rogers Enterprises would survive, you would see to that. There wouldn't be any guilt to lay heavy on your mind, no unfinished business to keep you from fully closing this chapter of your life as soon as the wheels touched down at O'Hare. You were better than all of them, you would make sure of that.

By the time you got out of the bath, Steve had disappeared, not leaving a note as to where he had gone. That was all fine by you, you didn't need his puppy-dog looks to try to get you to change your mind about leaving tomorrow. He had ordered brunch for both of you before he left so you happily ate apple pancakes while watching trashy television. You had no idea what anyone was saying but it didn't matter, drama had no language barrier. The mimosa probably didn't hurt either.

You were tired, your body throwing a new basic need at you as soon as one was fulfilled. It had been ages since you had slept properly, not really wanting to think back and acknowledge that things had been so different 48 hours before. You must have passed out trying to force your brain to not count back to the perfect London morning, but when you woke, the comforter had been spread out on top of you on the bed while Steve was curled onto the couch, still wearing the clothes he flew in. He must have not slept well either. Good.

Dressing in a silk robe from the hotel, you got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Messy hair slept in after the bath, no makeup, chipped nails. So different from the girl from the night before, but somehow much more of a comfort. This was you. This was who you really were. You had said time and time before that each night with Steve felt like a new Cinderella moment, but no one ever focused on how Cinderella felt after the party was over, when she went back to her humble dresses. Did she feel good? No, of course she didn't. If she did, then her time with the Prince wouldn't have been as special as it was. She wanted to live in that fantasy forever, dancing at the ball and it never striking midnight. Part of you envied her with that. You wanted that too, to keep traveling and going to events and parties forever with Steve.

But the Prince didn't think to ask for her name until it was too late. Like a typical guy, he never thought beyond the moment in front of him and then had to go on a chase throughout the entire kingdom to find the girl from the ball. He would have saved a lot of time and headache if he just had the balls to actually talk to Cinderella.

You weren't Cinderella, that had been made impossibly clear. And you weren't going to wait for some emotionally constipated prince to decide he needs you in his life. You were this girl, mess and all, but that was far better than any girl who just waits for a guy with a shoe.

Standing over the edge of the couch, you swiftly kicked the leg with arms crossed over your chest. Steve awoke with a start, his long frame struggling to stretch his full length on the loveseat. His eyes fell on yours, something flashing behind them before they settled onto reading your mood. "Where were you?"

He rubbed his eyes for a moment, buying time before answering your question, "What?"

"You were gone by the time I finished in the bathroom. Where did you go?"

"Oh, um, nowhere. Just a walk," he explained, but you didn't totally buy it, being that it was still raining outside and he was bone dry, "I didn't think you wanted me around."

There wasn't really a good way of answering him. You didn't want to, like, talk to him, not really, but you did kinda still want him around. You wanted him around so that you could choose to not be around him. It was stupid and a total teenage girl move, but after everything you had been through for him, you wanted to take even a small bit of your power back by deciding how miserable he got to be.

But he wasn't going to play that game. "Are you heading down to the spa?" he asked as he sat up.

"Yeah, I figured it was getting close to time to get ready." You half expected him to protest, not wanting to spend any more money unnecessarily, but instead, he gave you a half-smile and wished you a good time. All you could do was nod. Taking back your power wasn't as much fun when he just let you have it.

Why was he letting you have it? Was this his way of apologizing, of not making you upset by just letting you have your way? You weren't some brat that needed to be satiated. You had legitimate issues with the way this trip had gone and you had every right to voice them. You had every right to leave tomorrow. And no amount of passive compliance from Steve was going to change your mind.

So you decided to let yourself enjoy the spa one last time. A neck and shoulder massage, mani-pedi, facial, the works. You asked the girls to paint your nails a soft neutral pink, something a little different than the dark colors you usually favored. And tonight you wanted your hair down, a nice blowout with a casual curl to it instead of being tied up tight against your head. But the girl who did your makeup really outdid herself. Subtle gold glitter smoked out to a soft black on your eyes, matching the dress choice for tonight, with bright burgundy lips, clearly making you a force to be reckoned with. It was perfect for how you felt. You wanted to bring the men around you to their knees.

And as you looked at yourself in the mirror back up in the room, you knew you were going to do exactly that. The gold gown practically dripped off of you, the fabric draping perfectly around your curves. You felt like yourself, the complete opposite of how you felt less than 24 hours before, just before you left to go with Bucky. It was almost perfect, the look almost reflecting the power inside of you, save for one small detail.

Reaching back behind you, you carefully unclasped the aquamarine necklace from your neck, placing it back in its baby blue box just as Steve rounded the corner from the bathroom. He looked nervous, the confident man you watched at the three previous events fading ever so slightly in your golden light. He wasn't yet ready. He hurried to tuck in his shirttails, the ends of his untied bowtie hanging loosely from his collar. This wasn't like him.

"You're not wearing your necklace." A statement, not a question.

"No," you started, "I can't wear silver while I'm wearing this much gold. And the blue of the stone clashes with the red of my lips. It's not a good look." There was way more to it than just clashing colors, but did it really matter at this point?

He watched you in the mirror, the gears in his brain turning and processing. Sighing, you resigned yourself to wearing the cheap rhinestone studs you had brought with just so you didn't look so totally bare, and you turned towards him as he messed with his cufflinks. With a weak smile, you gingerly started tying his bowtie for him, the closeness of your bodies feeling strange instead of comfortable.

"Look, I just don't want to wear it tonight. It doesn't mean anything," you lied.

He softly took your hands in his own, stopping your work and forcing you to meet his eyes, your heart practically pounding in your chest at the intimacy of the action. A part of you longed for him to lean down and kiss you, a kiss to take away all the pain, to heal the scars on your heart. But as the seconds ticked by, all he could do was look at you.

"I thought we promised no bullshit?" he breathed.

You let your hands drop to your sides, the balloon deflating inside your chest. Of course, he would rather call you out than let you in. You had thought that maybe, just maybe he spent the day reflecting on himself, seeing how he fucked up so royally, and figuring out what he could do to make it better. But no. Steve would never let himself be that vulnerable. Slowly, you turned from him, careful to not let the disappointment cross your face, and you packed the few things you would need into a small clutch.

Steve cleared his throat while he shrugged on a midnight blue velvet tuxedo jacket with black silk lapels. Your eyes dared to meet his in the mirror, the intimidating hardness behind them. "It's no secret in my circle that Mr. Stark and I are no longer in business together, so it would be embarrassing for me if my date were to be seen speaking to him or Pepper. At least, I would prefer if you refrained from having more than just a polite conversation with either of them."

Normally you would give in to the edge in his voice, but not today. Not after everything that had happened. Raising your chin just a bit, you grasped your clutch in both hands, never letting your voice waver, "I don't work for you anymore, Steve. I will speak or not speak to whomever I wish and if you don't like it, tough shit. Now, whenever you're ready, you can meet me down in the lobby."

It wasn't until you were down there that your head stopped buzzing. Did he know how deeply he was digging himself in? This wasn't like him, he was so much more apologetic when he knew he fucked up. But now, it was like he was going to scorch the earth if he was going down. You didn't want to say that all he had to do was kiss you, it was way more complicated than that. But a kiss was a damn good place to start, it was all just his goddamn pride getting in his way.

"I was ready to walk out just as you left," he said as he joined you at the main entrance of the hotel, waving down a driver for a car, "Please don't tell me you're going to act like this all fucking night?"

"No, Steve, I will play the fucking part of your arm candy, but don't you dare start giving me commands like I'm one of your Army buddies," you retorted, biting your tongue before you could finish that you thought you were way more than just another friend.

Steve sighed as he held the car door for you and you scooted in, making sure to gather the skirt of the dress so it wouldn't get caught in the door. Thankfully, it had stopped raining while you were at the spa so the ground had mostly dried by this point. He moved to the other side of the car and joined you, nodding to the driver that the two of you were ready to go. The parallel to Bucky made you want to puke.

The streets of Berlin were lit to highlight the best parts of the city, away from where you were the night before, and they gave glimpses of Steve as the car drove. He just stared out the window, his eyes lost in his own head, contemplating what, you couldn't even hazard a guess. Did he even really want to go to this anymore? Did you?

Yes, a part of you did. Beyond Shuri, you wanted to show these people, these supposed superheroes of the world that you had power too. You wanted to show Steve how powerful you were when you could be yourself.

The car pulled onto a ring drive, taking its place behind the few others that were letting guests out in front of a massive set of steps. The gallery was a pristine white building, architecture reminiscent of a Greek temple with massive columns facing the front. Just behind those, the entire entrance was clad in glass panels, the comforting warm glow of the light inside radiating out. Pepper had outdone herself getting this place to host a bunch of arms dealers and weapons manufacturers. Hopefully, the night won't end with everyone pulling guns on each other.

Once the car pulled up in front of the steps, the driver came around to open the door on your side, politely offering his hand before Steve could get around the car to you. You appreciated the help as you found your balance and sorted out your dress. Up the steps a bit, your eyes fell on the black hair, scruff, and blue eyes that you knew too well, unfortunately, and your body froze for a moment.

"Ready to go in?" Steve asked as he took his spot next to you.

"What happened to Bucky?" you wondered. In the light coming from the gallery, it was clear that Bucky had been in some sort of altercation. There was definitely a deep black eye that hadn't been there the night before, and his downturned mouth was split and swollen. It was a bit surprising that he would even show up looking that rough. Eyes darting, they finally fell onto you and Steve, only serving to make him frown more before he disappeared into the crowded gallery.

Your eyes darted back to Steve who clenched his jaw before answering, "I went and had a conversation with him when you were in the bathroom."

"A conversation."

His eyes met yours, "It was more one-sided. I did most of the talking…"

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smirk from crossing your lips. It didn't make up for what he did to put you in that situation in the first place, but it was a solid start. "But what about your company? He definitely won't stay now."

"Oh, he will, or else all his clients and everyone who's anyone involved with any military in the world will hear about what he tried to do to you," he casually dropped, offering you his arm to take. Your gaze fell to his arm and you weren't sure what to do. It was oddly touching in a way. Steve had beaten the shit out of Bucky while you were crying in the bathtub. Not that you condoned violence, but you would have beaten the shit out of Bucky too if you could. And then to extort the extortionist, it sounded like Steve finally grew some balls when it came to his former Army buddy.

Your eyes flashed up to his and you let the little smirk that was on his lips crawl across your own as you linked your arms with his, gently grasping his forearm with your other hand. For tonight, it was better if you acted like you were together.

The main hall opened up to you, small standing tables positioned near large modern sculptures of all types. Waiters expertly wove through the groups, offering canapes and glasses of champagne, or taking other drink orders. There was a large bar off to the side and towards the back was a hardwood dance floor with a live band playing soft music. The white walls held up beautiful works of art; large, modern pieces and small portraits, pictures of lives that no one knew. There were rooms leading off of this main one, all with their own paintings or sculptures, and there were even some historians offering insight on all the color splattered on canvas.

Pepper had outdone herself, really. This was only your fourth event of this kind but it was hard to imagine any other one holding a candle to this.

Steve nodded hellos to a few people that he knew but the two of you generally kept moving in, taking in everything that was going on around you. "I'm going to grab something from the bar, would you like anything?" he asked.

'Um, yes, sure," you started politely, your feet itching to do a lap and look at everything, "A manhattan sounds good." Steve nodded and dropped your arm, heading over to place your drink orders.

You knew you should have probably stayed in that spot since there were so many people, but you couldn't help letting yourself wander over to a large painting with striking colors. The painting showed two women standing near the middle of what looked to be a town square, dressed finely with one's face covered by the veil of her hat. They were surrounded by men, or what looked to be distorted male figures, with a bold red building in the background. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before, not quite as impressionistic as Picasso but not literal at all. A few others gathered around the painting as you did, so the historian took that as his cue to start a lecture:

"This is Potsdamer Platz by Ernest Ludwig Kirchner, completed in 1914. At the time, the artist spent time around the sisters, the women he's depicted, who were dancers and believed to be prostitutes. It's clear that Kirchner did not look down on the women for their work, as he painted them with respect and made them realistic, but instead chose to warp the view of all the men around them. Many of them are seen as predatory figures, trapping the women on the busy street."

"I know how they feel," you mumbled to yourself but the man standing next to you caught your words.

"You do?" he asked softly with a slight accent, choosing to stay near you as the rest of the crowd moved on. In a past life you would be embarrassed for someone overhearing your thoughts, but come tomorrow you would never see these people again. So why not indulge him?

"Yeah, I know what it's like to feel trapped by men who make escape seemingly impossible," you stated, straightening up a little taller. The man smirked a little at your answer, brown eyes sparkling. He was dressed a bit differently than most, still formal but not a suit. He wore a long black fitted coat that had an intricate diamond pattern throughout it, almost like it was knitted, with the cuffs of the sleeves, front, and spilling down across the bottom hem lined with a gorgeous orange tribal pattern. Simple black slacks and black leather sandals kept the focus on the coat. While most of the men here liked to believe that they had some power, this man knew that he did.

He nodded a bit to himself before gesturing back to the painting, "And the women there, they are trapped? Just like you?"

He turned back towards you, seemingly genuinely interested in your answer, "No, they aren't trapped, not really. We just haven't seen them make their move yet, but it's coming." The man cracked a smile at that that you couldn't help but mirror.

"I hope I am correct in thinking that you might be making moves as well?" he stated as both your attentions were pulled to a woman coming towards you who was doing an impressive job of power walking in heels. Of course, this beautiful goddess draped in white threw her arms around you as soon as she made her way over, much to the man's surprise.

"Shuri!" you exclaimed, returning her embrace and internally sighing with relief. It wasn't that you doubted that Shuri would be here, it was just that she was pretty much the only reason you were there, "It's so good to see you again!"

The woman finally let you go, the silver rings in her braids being set off by her silver cuff bracelets, her simple white high-neck bodycon dress being more than enough to turn a few heads. "Brother, this is the girl I was telling you about from the other night, the one who says we should go to California-"

"Northern California, Silicon Valley," you interjected.

"But I still want to go to Coachella," she finished with a smile and it finally dawned on you that this man had to be King T'Challa of Wakanda. What was royal protocol? Were you supposed to curtsey or never turn your back on him, like with the Queen?

"Ah, yes, the one who was so helpful when my sister was having issues, thank you for your generosity," T'Challa said, nodding his head towards you. All you could really do was to smile and nod yourself, trying to keep your cool. You had just talked about being trapped like a prostitute with the King of Wakanda. That had to break some etiquette rule somewhere.

"It was nothing, I'm glad I could help and could talk with Shuri for a bit," you said turning your head and seeing Steve looking for you with two drinks in his hands. You subtly waved towards him and he caught your eye, making his way over until he got close enough to see who you were speaking with. He hesitated just for a moment, his eyes darting from yours to confirm that what he was seeing was real. "King T'Challa, Shuri, I would like you to meet my… associate, Steve Rogers," you introduced with a smile.

Steve put on the warmest smile he could as he approached your little group, handing you your drink that you were more than thankful for, "My apologies, I would have brought drinks for everyone. I had no idea we were already striking up new friendships…"

"Ahh, the infamous Steve Rogers. You know, everyone calls you 'Captain America' because you only deal with American manufacturers," T'Challa ribbed goodnaturedly and Steve's trained smile turned a bit more genuine.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, I haven't had a lot of opportunities to expand outside of my home country. The US Military keeps me very busy."

"Please, T'Challa is fine," he insisted and he flagged down a waitress for flutes of champagne for himself and his sister, "That is not a bad thing, Mr. Rogers. In fact, Shuri has said that you believe in fair and honest deals that make everyone money, or at least that is what your lovely associate has said about you."

Steve turned towards you slightly, his face an unreadable calm but his eyes sparkled with affection, "Has she now?" You let yourself give him a small smile, a part of your heart hurting for what could have been if he had only been honest and fair with you.

"I think you and I should speak about some developments we have made in Wakanda…" and T'Challa started to step away from the little group, giving you a polite nod as he turned, "I hope you make your move soon, my friend."

"Uh, these are my inventions, I am taking part in this conversation," Shuri chided, walking on the other side of Steve as the three of them moved away from the crowded room.

There.

You were done. That was the last thing you needed to do before you went back to your normal, 'doors open on the left at Belmont' life. It was all up to Steve now, and if he could make that deal, he would be more than set personally and professionally. You sipped on your drink, taking in the party around you. Where would the next one be? Paris, Rio, Tokyo? How long would it take for him to find someone new to spoil? Or would he just hire a girl for the night, a couple of hours just to make it through? Would he even remember you in six months? Would any of them? If you didn't like this world, then why did it hurt a little to know how quickly it spit you out?

Moving back through the rooms, you allowed yourself to take in the art and the atmosphere, gaining a small education in German art movements but having more fun chatting with the patrons. You recognized a few people from the party in New York, the same men who were making women crawl for their money now being led around by the elbow by their wives, looking absolutely miserable. You struck up a conversation with an incredibly charming man who had traveled from Norway, eager to prove that he should be the one to take over the business from dad and not his older brother who was always due to inherit the throne, and a doctor who let you know within five minutes of talking with him that the museum was sitting right on top of a gamma hotspot, but that it wasn't enough to do any damage.

"I heard you had made it to Berlin but I wasn't sure if you were still coming," Pepper's voice interrupted the kind Dr. Banner's rant about how time travel is depicted in movies. She softly put her arm around your waist and gently pulled you into a hug, one that you didn't really realize you needed so badly. Tony followed dutifully behind her, opting to go for a full black tie and no sunglasses, but his red pocket square matched Pepper's dress exactly. Seemed like matching your date was the thing to do with these men.

"Are you kidding, I wouldn't miss this for the world," you replied in a half-truth. You came because of your obligation to Shuri or else you would have been on a plane going back to Chicago by now, but it was nice to see a semi-friendly face, "Well done, by the way, putting all of this together. I think the masses are enjoying having a night of some fine culture and good drinks."

Pepper smiled warmly at you, "Thank you so much, I really hope they do. But, we have some news," and she beamed over at Tony who just rolled his eyes in the most loving way, "We set a date finally. Next summer, after too long of a courtship…"

"In my defense, I needed to get some shit together before I could put a ring on it," he interjected, but Pepper just ignored him.

"We're finally getting married. And I hope you and Steve will be able to come."

Your mouth was probably gaping like a fish. Of course, you were happy for her and Tony, that was incredible that her man-child finally grew up and realized what he had in front of him. But wasn't he the one that ran an illegal no-girls-allowed backroom casino party, the very antithesis of tonight, and tried to kick you out of it? There was no way you were going to be at that wedding.

"Wow!" was the first thing out of your mouth, trying to match her level of excitement. You didn't have it in your heart to tell her that this was the last time you would be seeing her, "That sounds so perfect, a summer wedding. But… I thought the boys weren't on speaking terms right now…?"

Her expression dropped, but not to disappointment, more so to concerned confusion, "Yeah, I was hoping to ask you about that. I was away in LA and the day I got back, Tony was asking to set up a meeting with Rhodey directly and wouldn't say more than Steve had made him look bad. What happened in New York? Do you know why they are fighting?"

The fleeting look of panic that came across Tony's face was unmistakable. Of course, you knew why they were fighting, you were the reason they were fighting. And you didn't owe it to anyone to keep their secrets anymore. Tony had been aloof and invasive towards you at best, callous and cold at worst. Right now, you could hurt him the way that he's managed to hurt you.

"I know Steve and Tony had some words, I think about Klaue's event in London. Tony didn't want him to go but you know Steve, he can be stubborn when he thinks he knows best, but everything got so messed up that night that I think Tony was right. He needs to swallow his pride and be the bigger man," and your eyes met Tony's over Pepper's shoulder, your gaze never wavering.

Pepper's demeanor relaxed as she listened, nodding in an understanding that you couldn't reach. "I know how those two can be; worse than brothers sometimes. I hope you can talk some sense into him soon, I'm looking forward to seeing you more…" and another guest briefly interrupted her to congratulate her on the event.

With a small smile to yourself, you nodded and took a final sip of your drink, frowning a bit as it became empty. Tony pursed his lips as he took a moment, his eyes scanning you up and down before he nodded his head towards the bar off to the side, "Come on, let's get you another one."

It seemed rude to refuse, after all this was his betrothed's event, so you softly excused yourself from Pepper and trailed behind Tony, who didn't seem to need to weave around people much. Everyone kinda just got out of his way, which honestly explained a lot about him and why he always thought he could get whatever he wanted.

"Scotch, two of them, on the rocks. You drink scotch? You seem like the type of girl who would drink scotch," he ordered and questioned you in all one breath. The bartender got to work making the drinks and Tony continued after a beat, "I appreciate your discretion when talking with Pepper just now."

Quietly thanking the bartender, you swirled the glass a little to get some water off the ice and to buy some time. It wasn't that talking with Tony made you nervous, it was more that you didn't really know what there was to say. He didn't need to have any vested interest in you, not anymore.

"It didn't seem like my truth to tell," you said simply, taking a drink to gain some courage, "It's not my place to get in the middle of your relationship."

Tony stayed silent for a moment, letting himself relax and lean over the bar. You weren't escaping this conversation anytime soon.

"See, but what I don't understand is why. You have a strategic advantage over me, information that would ruin my relationship and very possibly my life, and I have done you wrong. I embarrassed you and decidedly fucked over the man you're shacking up with and right now you have a golden opportunity to destroy everything on a nuclear scale and _you won't use it?_"

And for the first time, you actually saw Tony Stark. No sunglasses to hide behind, no AC/DC to drown out the noise in his brain. He was afraid of you. There was fear there, fear that just because you didn't use it now, you weren't going to push the button in the future. But all it did was reinforce your decision more.

"There are two ways to end a war. Going nuclear… or just walking away. I don't gain anything by taking you down, it doesn't make my life any better. I'm not an arms dealer, Tony, and I never was."

As the words fell onto his ears, his spine straightened, his jaw unclenched a bit. Another sip of his drink allowed him a moment and gave you the space to breathe for a second. This was the man that was charming but intimidating when you first met him, seemingly good-natured but a live wire nonetheless. He liked to believe that he held the fate of the world in his hands, but all he really was was just a man in a Tom Ford suit.

"I may have pegged you wrong," he declared, his voice low so no one else could hear him admit to a mistake.

The alcohol was starting to hit, making your brain braver than you would normally allow, and you wanted to keep this momentum of making Tony Stark admit his mistakes going, "I think you really did and you decided to hate me without even giving me a chance. Your problem is with me so why are you fucking with Steve?"

"My problem," he snapped back, all his perceived grandeur and glory coming back to fill his deflated ego, "Is how Rogers spoke to me about you. He broke my rules. People don't break my rules."

You could barely believe what it was you were hearing. "Jesus Christ, you were mad that I was there and fuck, Tony, I can understand that," and the man started to brush you off, going back to his drink, so you took a step forward, face to face. "But you're fucking with his business, making him look incompetent to his investors, forcing him to play hands that he never wanted to put out on the table. You have a personal problem with him, handle it personally."

He looked indignant, like how very dare you force him to listen to someone who did absolutely nothing for him. There really wasn't anything left for you to lose, "Don't be the asshole who shoots your friend to the ground over a girl. I wasn't the only one who was in that room, saw what happened, and is in this room right now. You know that's what they'll say, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, one of the most powerful partnerships in the world, got pulled apart by a girl from Chicago."

He considered you for a moment, his face still very telling of how pissed off he was, but he finally broke the silence between the two of you. "You got balls, kid. I can see why he likes you."

You took a deep breath, the pounding in your ears subsiding as you took a step back from him, but still keeping your confidence, "Yeah, well, be that as it may, I'm going to be taking a step back from all of this," and you gestured vaguely at the ballroom laid out in front of you.

"That's a shame. I was finally starting to warm up to you. And Pepper will be crushed, seriously I've never seen her so excited about someone since, well, since she met me. Fair warning, she's not going to let you just disappear. She's going to want drinks with you every time we're in Chicago."

You snorted through your nose, letting a small grin crawl across your lips. "Sure, anytime." You didn't really believe it, that you had made such a huge impression on someone in the few times you had met them, but it was a nice thought anyway.

Looking up from your drink, your eyes scanned down the bartop only to find Steve had been standing at the opposite end, watching you for you had no idea how long. The initial shock of getting caught with Tony quickly fell away as you watched him. He was relaxed, probably a few drinks in, and had a soft grin on his face. He seemed happy to be watching you, which was different from all the times he practically could x-ray you with his eyes. He didn't look angry with you or even apologetic, as had been his default for the past 16 hours or so. He just looked… different.

Tony's gaze followed yours and he took a breath as he realized who you were looking at. "I'm going to let you two have a moment, I have a shit ton of phone calls to make now. The amount of work you just created for me is enormous, you know that? Seriously, I'm going to have to hire someone just to do the contracts," and he whipped out his phone as he left you at the bar.

With a satisfied smirk, Steve made his way along the bar to take Tony's place. You watched him the whole way, not letting your gaze waver, but let a curious smile crawl across your lips, "You look like you're in a good mood."

"Mmm, I am," he answered nonchalantly as he leaned back against the bar, his eyes on yours, "Would you care to dance?"

The question took you a bit off guard but as the band moved into a slower, easier song, you found that you wanted to. With a small nod, you placed your hand in his outstretched one and he wove the two of you through the crowd, finding a small strip of floor that was unoccupied.

You hadn't danced with anyone in years, certainly not since high school, when you were forced to have a body length between you and your partner. Steve placed a hand gently on the middle of your back, your own resting on his shoulder as he softly pulled you into position. Of course he knew how to dance, why wouldn't he?

"You and Mr. Stark have a good conversation?" He tentatively asked. You suspected that he didn't want to upset you again but curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Acrimonious, as you know Tony can be, but I think he's finally starting to grow up. You know he and Pepper set a date for their wedding," you replied as the two of you swayed to the beat.

"Oh, did they now?"

"Mmmhmm. We're invited so now they're going to want us to dance at that as well."

Steve laughed at that, his head falling slightly into your shoulder, the laugh you wanted to have when Pepper first told you. Hearing him laugh again, a genuine laugh, made your heart scream and sing at the same time. It was these small, tiny moments where the two of you could just be yourselves that you loved so much, that you wanted more than anything in the world. These moments when he looked at you like you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. These moments when you could feel it in your soul that you never made any of it up.

"I have to admit, I've been watching you tonight," Steve whispered sweetly, his cheek next to your own, "You're completely brilliant."

"Nah, I'm just being myself tonight," you deflected.

"And you're brilliant. This whole time you've been talking with people, making connections, making people feel special. I know it's Pepper's night but you've been stealing the show."

You had to let yourself grin a little. It did feel nice that others had noticed you, but it felt even better that Steve was taking notice of the work you had done.

"I overheard some guys talking about how effortless you looked, how you seemed to have something interesting to say with everyone, and they wanted my card as soon as they found out that I was here with you. You are so close to making it in this business, people already want to work with you."

"You mean people already want to work with you," you correctly pointedly. You may have been close to making it in this world, but you were even closer to falling apart, "You know I'm not going to be an arms dealer or work for you."

"I know, I know," he sighed, "And I don't want you to work for me. But don't you ever think that we could be like them, like Tony and Pepper? Share the business, share a life together?" and he gently brought the back of your hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on it that you could feel being burned into your memory forever.

Your eyes went over to them and your heart ached. They were laughing together, Tony's arms wrapped around his fiancee's waist as she tried to feed him a chocolate dipped orange slice. The chocolate melted all over his lips but it didn't matter, she just kissed it all away, the smiles never leaving their faces. They were happy.

"Yeah, I did," you admitted, blinking back a tear. You wanted that so badly, believed so much that you could have that, that it blinded you from all the red flags and walls that Steve just constantly built to keep you at an arm's length.

"I want that with you, and I'm sorry it took me this long to see it," he started and your attention snapped back to him. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hoping against hope that he understood what you had felt for him for so long.

"I guess what I'm not so elegantly trying to say is…." and the words got lost in his throat, his eyes pleading for you to find them for him. You knew what it was, you knew in your whole heart what it was that he just couldn't let himself say.

But you needed him to say it. You needed him to mean it. You needed him to not be a scared little boy on his first day of boot camp. You needed him to grow up.

The final note of the song finished with a flourish and those who had been dancing broke apart to turn and applaud the band, but Steve paid no attention to them. He could only look at you, finally you, being the girl he wanted you to be, making connections for him, draped in gold to be worthy of him. "I lo-"

"Thank you for the dance, Steve," you graciously finished before slipping your hands out of his grasp.


	15. Chapter 14 - Miracle

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you like it, please consider leaving a comment! One more chapter...

**Chapter 14 **

The night had been exhausting, to say the least. You both had slept through silently, no arguments over what had happened during the dance. You were thankful for that small mercy he had given you. What was there really to say anymore? That you knew what words were going to fall from his lips, but you also knew they were for the wrong reasons? He didn't love you, not really. He loved what you could do for him.

Berlin rained again the morning after the gallery. The car took you swiftly from the hotel back to the airport, trunk packed with luggage, the dresses demanding their own garment bag so they wouldn't get ruined. You wanted to keep the black one, even though it was completely impractical and you would never wear it again. The gold one would get sold, along with the shoes, jewelry, and anything else Steve had bought for you. Maybe you could get a good five grand out of it all, at least have your rent paid for a few months while you figured out what was next.

The plane ride back to Heathrow was uneventful, to say the least. You made your camp near the front, setting up your computer to watch some trash TV while Steve preferred to work on his in the back. You expected that he probably had a shit ton of work to do following up with interested parties from the night before and there wouldn't be wifi on the plane back to Chicago. It was rather like the plane ride over, quiet.

Your heart hurt. Your head hurt. Your body was tired. You had never been one for just relishing in the moment, letting yourself live for the now. There was always something more, something else, another day to make plans for… but now there wasn't. You forced yourself to assess what was really around you. In around 12 hours, when all was said and done, Steve would be out of your life for good. That much you knew was true. That's why your heart hurt, as much as you didn't want it to. A little too much scotch with Tony, that accounted for your head. But your body, that was the tremendous amount of anxiety that was running through your veins. What were you going to do in the 13th hour? What would you wake up to tomorrow?

A plan. A plan to make a plan, that was all you could do right now. Take tomorrow to assess the damage, to run the numbers and to see what you actually had in the bank. Get your financials in order to figure out how much time you had until things got really desperate. And in 48 hours start applying for a new job.

You had always said you wanted a change. After all, that was why you went with Steve in the first place. Well, now you were getting it.

Wheels down at Heathrow, your bags whisked away to be loaded onto the commercial flight you would be taking back home. It was a short layover, only an hour or so. That was fine with you. For once, you didn't want to stay in London.

Still, you wasted no opportunity to grab some bags of Percy Pigs before going back. Who knew when you would be back again to get more? With barely a word you broke off from Steve, wandering into Marks and Spencers. You grabbed about five bags and a bottle of water before stepping up to the cashier, opening your purse for your credit card.

Only to find the stack of cash from the morning before had been stowed in your bag.

Asshole.

"That level of service deserves adequate payment," rang in your ears. Your jaw clenched as you paid for your candy, unsure of what you were actually going to do with the money. Could you use an extra $10,000? Yes, of course. But did you want it? No, no fucking way.

"Why did you put the money in my bag?" you questioned Steve who had found two recliners in the first-class lounge. He just looked at you confused as he took a seat, fetching his computer from his carry-on once again.

"So, we're speaking again?" he asked, his voice dry and unamused.

You rolled your eyes but didn't drop it, "I told you I didn't want it."

"And I'm telling you that it's not my money. Barnes certainly doesn't deserve to get it back but if you're insisting, I'll leave that to you to return it," he replied simply.

"Up to me? I don't ever want to see that fucking creep ever again," you retorted, taking the other recliner.

"Then I guess you're up ten grand," he reasoned without even looking over at you. You pouted anyway. The thought of keeping the money made you feel sick to your stomach. The whole situation was fucked. "I owe you for this week anyway, so you're up even more."

You couldn't help but sigh from exhaustion, "No, Steve. You don't owe me anything." You didn't want to be reminded of the events that transpired over the past couple of days every time you looked at your savings account. It was bad enough that it was going to be hanging around the five-figure mark for a while, you didn't know if you could bear having more than enough to pay off all your student loans.

One small mercy was that Steve didn't argue this time. He finally let you get your way.

First-class back to the States felt like a lifetime apart from the first time. You were seated next to each other but the partition between the two of you stayed halfway or all the way up most of the time. You couldn't help but look over at him every once in a while. He let you have your way in the airport, but part of you wished that he would have kept pushing. At least if the two of you were fighting, you were talking. But this silence, this freezing out, it made your heart hurt. You wanted so badly to forgive him but you truly didn't see any way that you actually could. Beating up Bucky and not arguing with you weren't going to be enough to bridge the divide that he had created. You needed him to talk to you. You needed to be yourself again.

Thomas's kind face greeted you at baggage claim, the week break seemingly serving him well. He looked rested, much more so than either of the two of you, and was exceedingly happy that Steve was back. You, probably a little less so. With the bags safely packed in the trunk, you slid into the backseat of the now-familiar car, allowing yourself a moment to enjoy it one last time.

"Any stops before we head home, Mr. Rogers?" Thomas asked as he pulled around the parking garage.

Steve turned to look at you before responding, "Yeah, she wants to go home. It's been a long week." Thomas nodded in the rearview mirror as he merged onto 90, back into the city.

You rested your forearms on the door as you let your eyes wander out the window, thinking about nothing and everything all at once. Would you miss it? You wanted to think of yourself as someone who could say that she wouldn't, that she would be able to step out of this car and close the door to that part of her life forever. But you knew yourself too well. As quickly as all this started, it was going to take you some time to get over this, to get over him. You were in love with Steve; his betrayal didn't change that, it just made it more painful.

"T'Challa and Shuri will be here in a little over a week," Steve broke the relative silence. You turned back towards him, interest piqued at the mention of Shuri. "They're coming to finalize the deal and to quote find out if America is as incredible as she says it is," he read from his phone.

"That sounds like some promising connections were made while you were in Europe," Thomas observed.

"The trip was well worth it," Steve answered, "Our Genius here helped secure a very lucrative deal that everyone was after," and he looked at you, his eyes soft.

"All I did was not know who they were and talked to them like they're normal humans, which they are," you brushed off, not wanting to take his flattery to heart.

"Well, you certainly made a good impression. Sounds like Shuri wants to experience Chicago from a true Chicagoan," he tried again, "I'm thinking we'll take them to Alinea for dinner and then maybe a cool rooftop in the West Loop? Or we could get a boat and go out onto the lake…"

You stared at him while you listened, wondering why he was telling you all of this, "Either would be great," you deadpanned as Thomas pulled onto your street, "The three of you will have a great time no matter what you decide."

The car pulled up in front of your building and you got out before Thomas could get your door for you. Unfortunately, Steve wasn't far behind. The two of them started pulling your bags from the trunk and you fished your keys from your purse, opening the gate and rolling them in.

"Thank you, Thomas, for all your kind words and the countless miles you drove for me," you started, trying to put on a happy face, "I can get it from here."

"It's nothing, I'm more than happy to drop you off from the airport," he responded, clearly a little confused as to why you were thanking him. You let out a small laugh and nodded, fidgeting uncomfortably with the too many keychains you had. You wished Steve would just say goodbye and leave, sparing you from a big scene right in front of your building.

"Why don't you go find a place to park? I'll help with the suitcases…" Steve said and you shook your head furiously.

"Seriously, I got it. I don't need your help," and you gathered up what you could, throwing the heavy garment bag with the dresses in it over your forearm, a handle in each hand.

With a small sigh and a nod towards Thomas, Steve easily took the garment bag from your arm and the handle of the bigger suitcase from your grasp, making his way up the walk towards the entrance of your building. This really wasn't helping anything. Yes, he was literally helping, because you would have struggled to get everything back up to your apartment on your own, but you would have managed because that is what you do. You manage.

"I don't need your help, Steve," you chastised as you opened the lobby door, "I can bring them up on my own.

He glanced at the old lacquered wooden staircase and then back at you. "No elevator?"

You pushed past him, lifting the smaller of the suitcases to the first landing, "No, no elevator and I don't make enough money to move. Don't worry about it, just go home," you sighed as you dragged the bigger suitcase up a few steps. The faded carpet runner helped to dampen the sound of heavy plastic wheels hitting the edge of each step, but the loud thumps still reverberated off the brick and plaster walls.

Adding to your frustration, Steve followed you up, lifting the large case up the stairs with ease so as to not make any more noise. He really wasn't going to just let you go, was he? Of course not; he never did before and he wasn't about to start listening to you now.

You unlocked your apartment door, rolling the small bag into the middle of the living room and instantly feeling the insecurities and unpleasantness of the past few days roll off of your shoulders. He followed behind, tentatively taking a step in, looked around the plain four walls and that was when it hit you: this was the first time Steve had ever been to your apartment.

"So, this is where you live…" he started and you watched as his eyes traveled over your modest couch, the ancient radiator sitting silently in the corner, the small entertainment center and TV that pulled the focus of the room. You had photos in frames above it, friends and family that were important to you, and some fun artwork you had bought while on a trip. A thin desk held a project computer, something you were tinkering with on your days off. Maybe now you would actually be able to get the last parts and finish it.

"Yeah, this is where I live," you said in a definitive tone, taking the garment bag from him and hanging it in the front closet so the contents wouldn't get ruined before you could sell them, "And thank you so much for helping me with my things but you can go now… leave… be gone..."

"It's cute. It's very you," and he ignored your invitation to leave, leaning over the casing of the computer to see what was inside. Impatiently, you took a step between him and your desk and his eyes pulled up to your own, "So, what are you thinking? Is the boat idea too showy? Either way, we can hit Nordstroms this weekend to find something for the occasion…"

"Why are you telling me this?" you interrupted, arms firmly crossed over your chest, "When I said I was done when we landed at O'Hare, I meant it."

He looked at you confused, like he had no recollection that you had ever been even the slightest bit angry with him. Exasperated, you refused to play this hot or cold with him anymore. Either he was shutting you out for good or he was going to let you have the space that you needed, but none of this arms-length afraid to catch feels bullshit. This was finishing now.

"But T'Challa and Shuri are coming here next week."

"And I'm sure the three of you will have a great time, but I told you…"

"I know," he cut you off, your stubbornness over the situation starting to give his voice an edge of annoyance, "But I didn't think you were serious…"

"Not serious?" you scoffed, "When I'm screaming at you in Berlin and throwing money at your feet _I'm not being serious_? My god, if that's not me being serious then I would really hate to see me when I am serious."

"No, that's not what I meant…" and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

You rolled your eyes so hard your swore they were going to get stuck in the back of your head, "I don't know what you possibly could have meant, Steve." His very presence and invasion of your personal bubble was already exhausting.

"I just thought…" and he hesitated for a moment, the unfamiliar surroundings throwing him off. Stripped of his power, his lifestyle and money, being forced to merely stand in your world for once, he wasn't exactly the intimidating businessman that you thought you knew.

Steve had started from humble roots, building himself up using his brains and charisma. He had more knowledge and confidence than anyone you had ever met, yet he never let himself trust anyone else, least of all you. What changed in him? What had happened between the morning with him drawing you while you were asleep to that night when he sold you out to Bucky? This man in front of you was barely the man you thought you had known so well, so much better than anyone else. Was this what he was truly like when he wasn't manipulating every moment? Was this who he was when the walls closed in?

You waited for the sentence to finish but the rest of it never came. "No bullshit, remember?" you insisted, "No manipulation, no lies. I just need you to actually fucking talk to me." You didn't want to fight with him again, not here, not really, but right now it was do or die. This was not the time to leave things unsaid.

"I just thought that... yesterday, last night with the drinks and the party, you might have remembered why you wanted to be with me in the first place. That you might have changed your mind," he blurted out.

And you looked at him, a renewed sadness in your eyes that you didn't even try to hide. He was never going to get it. He wasn't ever going to understand why someone could possibly want to be with him for something other than his money and lifestyle. And no matter how many times you told him, that was just one wall that no one would ever be able to tear down on their own. It almost hurt your heart to see him this way. It hurt your heart to know how alone he was going to be.

You didn't even want to try to repeat the same tired affirmations to him again. "But it was exactly that mindset that finally let me be myself yesterday. I wasn't worried about you or if I was going to piss off the wrong person. I wasn't trying to get an in with someone that I found morally reprehensible. I was just being me, just talking to people, just doing exactly what I did with you when we first met."

His eyes lit up, the smallest of sparks behind them, "I know, and it was incredible to see. Everything there at the party, everyone loved you, everyone wanted to talk to you. I was so proud to be able to say that you're mine."

Steve's hand reached out slightly towards yours but you couldn't return the gesture. You weren't his. He had made sure that you knew that you were never going to be his.

"You had that girl in front of your face this entire time and you just didn't want to see me, at least not until everyone else wanted to see me too."

The truth of the situation made him shift on his feet uncomfortably, his hand withdrawing back into his pocket. He didn't look at you, instead focusing on a spot beyond on the opposite wall. "I know I fucked up, I know," he murmured quietly, trying to find his voice again, "But please, just stay. One more night, one last event. If you still want out after that, I'll get out of your life forever."

One last night, a final meal with some new friends and a proper goodbye, transaction complete. It was so tempting, one of the more reasonable requests he had ever made of you. But there was something still nagging at the back of your head, something that you needed answered once and for all. "Why do you want me to stay with you?"

It was his turn for his eyes to meet your own, a fear behind them that you just couldn't let yourself believe was because of losing you. He let your question hang in the air for a moment before clenching his jaw and looking away, "You know why."

You shook your head as your stomach sank. Just when you thought you couldn't be any more disappointed in him, he managed to surprise you with how emotionally constipated he was. He wanted you because you made him look good. Because you could make him money. Because you were eager to sleep with him. Because he decided that he would allow himself to fall for you once you were built up to his perceived level, once you had been so fully ingrained into his life that it would be more work to try to pull you out of it. But just because now you could see over the walls he had built around himself didn't mean that they weren't still there.

"Yeah, I do," you started, your voice quiet as you took a seat on the couch, "But I also know that your reasons aren't enough, Steve. I want to be more than just your partner, I want to do more than just go to events. And I think that's where you and I just won't see eye to eye. No matter what I did for you, I was never enough on my own."

You were worth so much more than what he had given you and now you finally knew it. The tears brimmed in your eyes, days, weeks, months of built-up pain threatening to spill over. "But you were always enough for me, Steve. From the day you sat down on that wooden stool and talked with me, you were enough. And I wanted to be with you so, so badly but I never quite knew where I stood with you. One minute you would be all over me and then the next I would be waking up alone. You draw sketches of me and then you give me over to your friend," You couldn't stop once it all started. He had ripped out your heart and now he was going to get your blood on his hands, "Do you even like me? Did you even want me and not just what I could do for you? Because if you did, if you do, then for fucks sake, could you let me know?"

"But I did," he snapped, the all too familiar hard edge returning to his voice. You could only steel yourself, knowing that this could only end in a fight, "I invited you in, into my career, into my world and introduced you to my found family. I made room for you, tried to make things as comfortable as possible. I bought you gifts, treated you well, opened my home and arms to you when you needed someone to listen. I provided for you when your old job forced you out. I took you around the world and yes, I asked for too much in return once and that was a mistake that I will regret for the rest of my days. But don't fucking sit here acting like I wronged you, saying that I never let you know how I felt about you because I opened my fucking life to you. I gave you my life. You know damn well how I feel."

"But that's not love, Steve!" you shouted, head in your hands. How could he just not get it? This was all about him. It would always be about him, "It was only when you finally realized the connections I could make for you that you decided that I was deemed worthy of your affections. Gifts and trips aren't love."

The silence hung heavy in the air, neither of you looking at the other. Was there any saving this?

Steve shook his head and mumbled, "Well, that's all I have to give."


End file.
